


Ripped Tights and Late Nights//Reddie

by BakugouLeftTiT



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Losers Club (IT), Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Daddy Kink, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Fluff and Smut, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Lawyers, M/M, Prostitute Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Sassy Eddie Kaspbrak, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Top Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 27,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BakugouLeftTiT/pseuds/BakugouLeftTiT
Summary: Richie’s fully aware of the fact that what he’s doing is wrong, but Eddie’s beckoning him closer with crooked fingers and an easy smirk and Richie’s never been able to resist his baby boy.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 42
Kudos: 103





	1. One//blurb;

_**One//Blurb;** _

”Back again, Mr. Tozier?” Eddie asked with a teasing smile, a familiar glint in his hazel eyes.

”Just for you.” Richie says. He knows what Eddie’s doing, he knows how to play the younger brunette’s game.

”Is Greta on a business trip or visiting family this time?” Richie is sure the pretty boy is joking, but he can see the underlying hurt in his eyes. It’s Eddie’s job to please his customers, not grow attached. And growing attached wasn’t in Richie’s intentions either.

“Neither. She’s at home with the kids. She thinks I’m at a harmless bar.”

”Nothing about me is harmless, Mr. Tozier. Surely you know that by now.”

”You know I do.” Richie throws a wink at Eddie, who accepts it with a small smile. Richie really shouldn’t be flirting with Eddie, but he’s too captivated to care.

Richie feels something for Eddie. Something he doesn’t feel for his own wife. It’s not love, he knows that. He isn’t in love with Eddie, he can’t be. The most he’s socially allowed to feel for Eddie is a strong liking perhaps, maybe fondness. Eddie’s a stripper, Richie’s a lawyer. Feelings weren’t part of the deal.

”Let me finish making up this round of drinks and then I’m all yours.” Eddie says, directing his head nod towards a small, rowdy group of men. 

”All mine.” Richie echos, drifting away from the bar and towards the club’s private quarters. He’s become so acquainted with the sex rooms he even knows which one Eddie will find him in.

•••••••••••  
**WARNINGS**

_**-Lowkey fem af 21 year old stripper Eddie** _

_**-Daddy af 35 year old Richie w/kids** _

_**-Background mentions of rape but no actual rape. (Doesn’t have anything to do with the characters, it’s just Richie’s lawyer case)** _

_**-Background mentions of character death but no actual death. (Doesn’t have anything to do with the characters, it’s just Richie’s lawyer case)** _

_**This will have a lot of sex but there is going to be actual plot mixed it and stuff.** _


	2. Two

_**Two** _

”Sorry I took so long.” Eddie apologizes as he struts into the room, not pausing to close the door properly. Richie’s thankful that the hinges take it upon themselves to close it for him.

Eddie immediately settles on Richie’s lap. The ‘sex room’ is small, a booth-like couch running along the back two walls, forming an ‘L’ shape. The couch was wide enough for two people to lie comfortably beside each other.

“I’ve missed you.” Richie pouts, tilting his head back to let Eddie loose on the pale canvas that is his neck.

”You’ve missed sex.” Eddie corrects, rolling his hips against Richie’s. Richie wants to take things slow tonight, but Eddie is so eager to get into it.

”Don’t get much of that at home. Greta hasn’t been very.....giving lately. Lately being the last three years.”

Eddie scoffs, removing his hands from around Richie’s neck and trailing them down his abdomen until he reaches the bottom of Richie’s white button up while still rocking his hips. He proceeds to undo Richie’s shirt slowly, one button in between neck kisses.

”You can’t really complain that she’s not ‘very giving’ when you come here at least once a week to get your sex fix.”

Richie growls, flipping them over so he’s hovering above Eddie on the booth. Eddie finishes undoing the last buttons and slips Richie’s shirt over his shoulders where it falls, abandoned, to the carpeted floor.

”Don’t act as if you don’t love it.” He says, untying Eddie’s black tie and gripping his thighs through his black skinny jeans. They’re in almost identical outfits, except Richie’s not wearing a tie and he doesn’t look half as good in skinny jeans as Eddie does.

Eddie moans at Richie’s words, craning his neck until he can bite at Richie’s left nipple tauntingly. “How badly do you want it, daddy?”

Eddie’s teasing Richie, playing with him. The ‘d’ word shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does. It shouldn’t sound as innocent as it does falling from such plump pink lips.

Richie knows it’s against the rules, but he’s never cared less about rules. He tightens his hold on Eddie’s hips and keeps his thighs tight around Eddie’s own as he bends down and kisses the other male.

Eddie reacts as he always does; eagerly. He’s not supposed to kiss his customers, but Richie’s special. Having sex with Richie doesn’t feel like he’s getting paid to get someone off. Richie had always been that little bit more that Eddie had always needed, always craved. He was just that little bit better at everything he did and it sparked something within Eddie’s chest constantly.

“Baby, baby, baby.” Richie breathed, drawing back for air. “Slow down, yeah? We’ve got all night.”

“You’ve got all night.” Eddie muttered, licking a thick line from Richie’s navel to his throat. “I’ve got to work. I got customers to please.”

At that, Richie made an unhappy noise in his throat; half groan, half grunt. “I should be the only customer you need to please.”

Eddie sighed, lifting himself up so his hands rested on Richie’s shoulders and he sat squarely on the older man’s lap. “If I am only allowed to see you, are you willing to pay for the customers that I miss out on? I’ve got bills to pay, Tozier.”

”I just don’t like the thought of you sleeping with other people.” Richie whined, unbuttoning Eddie’s jeans slowly.

”I know, Richie. But, I’m a stripper. It’s what I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be longer!  
> This is still just a little insight


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just want to make clear that strippers don’t have sex for money in normal cases but for Eddie case he will for certain customers and a certain amount of money, I should have made that clear in the began, sorry about that :)

_**Three**_

“Fuck, Richie.” Eddie pants, eyes screwed shut as his face scrunched up in pleasure. His hair is stuck to his forehead and Richie can relate, though he doubts he looks as good as the brunette boy writhing below boy.

”Yeah.” Richie grunts in time with his thrusts. “You like that?”

Eddie nods feverishly, clawing at Richie’s back hard enough to make the older man hiss. The dim lighting in the room is barley enough for Richie to make out Eddie’s features, but it created the mood. Arching his back into Richie’s body, Eddie let’s out a high pitched whine. Richie likes the sounds that Eddie makes, he gets off to them in the shower when he knows nobody’s home.

”So close, baby. So close.” Richie moans into Eddie’s ear, sloppily sucking on the shell. His mouth moves down, down Eddie’s jaw and neck, across his clavicles and to his nipples. He lets one of the smaller boy’s nipples into his mouth, sucking hard as his hips hit Eddie’s own over and over.

Eddie reaches shaky hands down to Richie’s face, grabbing at his cheeks, trying to pull Richie up to his level. Richie complies, leaving the nipple soaked with his salvia. Eddie attaches their lips together and Richie appreciates, not for the first time, how Eddie completely disregards the ‘don’t kiss the customers’ rule just for him.

His lips are smooth and soft as they slide along his own. They’re a ruby red from when he’s bitten too hard when overcome by immense pleasure, but they feel like heaven to Richie.

He’s inching closer to finishing, he knows it and he knows that Eddie knows it, too.

Eddie’s drawn out whimper is what does it for Richie, sends him over the edge as he fills up the condom in Eddie. He doesn’t pull out just yet though, he knows how much it turns Eddie off. His priority now is to make Eddie cum, and then clean them both up.

“C’mon Eds.” He encourages, leaving frenzied kisses all over Eddie’s skin. “Cum for me, yeah?”

“Close.” Eddie whispers between pants, opening his eyes and staring into Richie’s soul. “Please.”

Richie will punch himself if he gets hard again. He’s too sensitive, so he doubts he will, but Eddie’s breathy little moans will be the death of him, he swears. He pulls out nearly all the way, pushing in as far as he possibly can as Eddie groans, painting the canvas that was his chest.

“Kill me.” Eddie groans, curling into a ball as Richie pulls out, properly this time, and discards the dirty condom.

“Not gonna happen.” Richie half-laughs, still out of breath. He really is too old for this, he thinks.

Richie opens the cupboard of the sink that’s hidden discreetly in the corner of the ‘sex room’, finding a clean cloth and allowing warm water to soak it. Once it’s sufficiently wet, he drains it, then walks over to Eddie.

“Ready?” He asks.

Eddie nods, too tired for words. 

Richie wipes off the cum and sweat and leaves soft kisses in his wake. Once Eddie’s clean Richie gets dressed in the clothes he wore to the club; jeans and his outgrown leather jacket.

”You’re not leaving just yet, are you?” Eddie begs, slightly moving the arm that was flung over his eyes so he could look at Richie clearly.

”Not yet.” Richie lies. He was intending on leaving, but he couldn’t find himself to deny the pretty boy anything.

He clambers all over Eddie and probably elbows him in the face twice before he settles calmly behind him, wrapping an arm over his stomach and pulling him close.

Eddie smells nice, like vanilla candles. His skin is smooth where Richie’s rhythmic fingers rub circles. His legs occasionally twitch or move, and Richie likes the way they rub up against his.

”I think you just killed my dancing career.” Eddie mumbles.

”You’re too good for me to kill your entire career just like that.” Richie chuckles. He’s seen the younger boy in action, dominating the stage as gross men cheer from the crowds. Richie can only imagine how fantastic Eddie would be if he wasn’t trying to be sexual and if he danced the way he wanted to.

And he knows it’s Eddie’s biggest aspiration, to move to New York and make it big in the dancing scene. Yet, it’s also his biggest fear, that he won’t make it. That this is what he’ll ever accomplish, meaningless fucks in the back room of a club.

Richie holds Eddie tighter, staying later then he maybe should’ve, but it keeps Eddie happy and Richie likes making Eddie happy.

•••••••  
  


Once Richie’s satisfied and has gotten his daily fill of Eddie, he parks his _Mercedes-Benz C 400_ in the driveway. Slowly turning the brass handle of his front door, he steps inside. Richie’s cautious and wary of the three people who should be sleeping.

He sneaks inside and dumps his shoes and jacket on the floor purely because he knows it pisses Greta off. And in this moment, he’s not in the mood to make her happy. He’s tip toeing around the two-story house in his socks, worried about waking his family. He sees Greta bundled up on the couch, like she’d been waiting for him.

She’s got a frown etched into her skin although she’s asleep. Seeing her like this makes Richie almost feel guilty for causing her this amount of stress. He unfolds the blanket from its spot on the couch’s armrest and drapes it over her sleeping shoulders. She mumbles in her sleep and Richie tenses, waits for her to wake up and yell at him, but she doesn’t.

Richie relaxes. He breaths out a sigh of relief before heading back towards the entrance way. He straightens his shoes and pick up the leather jacket that should’ve been thrown out as soon as Bowie was born. Sometimes he forgets that he’s not that 20 year old punk kid cradling a sleeping baby Bowie. Greta laughs and tells him he’s trying to bring back his youth, but Bowie says he looks cool, so he’s cool. Everything’s cool.

He takes the stairs two at a time, eager to get to bed and face his wife in the morning. He plans on waking up early and making her coffee and maybe breakfast to soften her up a bit.

Richie passes Owen’s room first and ducks his head in. The first thing he sees is the fourteen year old’s face illuminated by the brightness of his laptop. Owen’s got headphones in, but he sees the door opening out of the corner of his eye and slips an earphone out of his ear as he looks at his dad expectantly.

“It’s getting late, Owen.” Richie says. “Don’t stay up too late, yeah?”

Owen nods, whispering a not very believable, “I won’t.”

Richie remembers how he felt when his parents told him to, _“go the fuck to sleep,”_ when he was ten minutes away from finishing a level in a game. He realized that while he doesn’t want to have to deal with grumpy kids in the morning, he didn’t want them to secretly try and stay up either. Midnight was their technology off time, and both kids appreciated the extra few hours that most kids didn’t get. Besides, usually they were both asleep by 11 anyway.

He closes the door, careful of the old _Doctor Who_ poster that hung over the edge of Owen’s door. The light was on in the upstairs bathroom and he flicks it off as he walks pass. He easily ignores the toothpaste stains on the mirror and Bowie’s purple hair bush lying abandoned on the counter. Sometimes it’s easier to just leave them for Greta to take care of.

His teenage daughter’s door was slightly ajar, most likely from the cat, and he knows how much she hates it open. He peeks his head in, seeing her sound asleep. He’s about to leave when her phone lights up with message notifications on her beside table. She has exams at the moment, and he knows she refuses to talk to her friends after 11pm. Richie turns her phone’s sound down so that nobody can disturb her and pulls the duvet over her as he presses a kiss to her forehead.

”Sweet dreams, Bowie.”

He makes sure Bowie’s door is closed and runs a tired hand over his weary face in an attempt to wipe off the stress of his life. He jumps into bed, fully clothed, instinctively reaching over to Greta’s side of the bed.

The silk sheets are cold.

He remembers how he felt when he was in love with Greta. He remembers the cheesy first dates, the smiles full of love, the three am calls because Richie forgot to say ‘I love you’. He remembers all the little things, but he can’t remember the day he fell out of love with her. Maybe his love just faded over time. Maybe he never was in love with her. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

He leaves the lamp on in his and Greta’s bedroom. He pretends he doesn’t see the photo frames that sat on their dresser, turned face down. That’s probably Greta’s doing, hiding the couple’s smile on their wedding day.


	4. Four

_**Four** _

Richie’s alarms scare him awake at 7:30 the next morning. He groans, rolling over as he slams his hand on the clock, effectively shutting it up. He rubs his hands over his eyes, removing the gunk that lies in the corners. He notices that Greta didn’t come back to bed last night. His marriage is definitely dying.

Shuffling to the bathroom, Richie passes Bowie’s room on the way. He can hear _The 1975_ coming from her speakers, so at least she’s awake. She’s maybe not as punk rock as Richie had hoped she would be, but she’s as close as Richie’s going to get.

He brushes his teeth and tries to force his curly hair into cooperating by stealing some of Owen’s hair gel. He’s pretty sure the kid won’t notice. It registers that he’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday, seeing as he didn’t get changed once he came home. He’s pretty sure his family will notice this, so he goes back to his room to change his shirt and jeans just in case.

The sizzling of bacon in the pan motivates Richie to go downstairs. Once he’s there, he slumps in his chair at the head of the dinning table. Greta’s making breakfast and he mentally groans as he remembers last night’s oath to make her breakfast. She’s way too good for him. He looks to his right and sees Owen with his head in a book, an empty plate awaiting breakfast in front of him.

Owen looks pretty interested in his book, but he still deigns Richie with a polite, ‘Morning dad, sleep well?, because Greta raised their children to always use manners, no matter what. It was her philosophy that if you use manners and you’re respectful, you’ll go far in life. Richie agrees as far as the kids are concerned, but he’s never outgrown that punk kid persona. Respecting others that weren’t apart of his immediate family wasn’t his forte.

”What’cha reading, Owen?” He asks. He loves his kids, more than absolutely anything, and he’s not sure when their relationship became so damaged. Maybe he’s imagining things.

“Nothing.” Owen mutters, dog-earring his place and putting his book down.

Richie’s actually offended for like, a solid six seconds, before he sees Greta’s finished cooking and Owen’s just putting his book out of the way. Greta’s holding out a plate of bacon and eight differently cooked eggs, two per person, and he realizes Owen’s not mad at him.

Greta’s still in her pajamas, and her hair is in a messy bun atop her head, but she’s still the most beautiful women Richie knows. They’re childhood sweethearts, so they’ve seen each other on their _kind of okay_ days and their _I just slept for 19 hours do you think anyone will notice?_ days. Richie thinks Greta still looks great no matter which day. Richie usually looks like crap.

Greta smiles in place of a good morning at Richie, and he smiles back. It’s involuntary at this point. Greta smiles, he smiles back.

Owen steals a piece of bacon and the two eggs on the far left. Barley cooked, yolk flowing from the center before he’s even touched them. Owen groans as he hears Bowie bound down the stairs with her light brunette hair straightened. She’s got an earphone in one ear, the majority of the cord hiding in her school shirt’s breast pocket.

She doesn’t say anything. She hasn’t had coffee yet so it’s hard for her to actually communicate with people despite her fresh appearance. She just ruffles Owen’s curly brown hair and kisses Richie on the cheek, which he gratefully accepts. At least it seems that one of his kids doesn’t hate him. Bowie sits in the chair beside Greta, across from Owen. She declines the plate of eggs that Richie offers her and he shakes it off. Richie takes his fries to death eggs and two slices of bacon, folding them inside like a sandwich and biting straight into it. Bowie wrinkles her nose playfully as she uses her silver cutlery to cut into her basil and parmesan covered eggs.

“My show’s this weekend. You’re all going.” Bowie announces, sipping from her coffee cup.

”What if we’re busy?” Richie asks. He’s joking though, he’s never too busy for Bowie and Owen.

“Yeah.” Owen laughs. “Or if we just don’t want to see your shitty show.”

Bowie reaches over the table and tries to slap him, but the younger boy is used to having to dodge her. Richie hooks his arm around his son’s throat, not too tight, just playfully, as he runs his hand through Owen’s hair. The youngest Tozier is still laughing, trying weakly to pry his dad’s arm off of him.

”Apologize to your sister!” Richie demands as he laughs.

“Never!”

”I’ll.....I’ll burn all of your games.” Richie threatens. He doesn’t mean it.

The girls play along, fake gasping as Owen splutters at the thought. “I’m sorry! I’d love to go to your shitty show!”

Richie lets go and high fives Bowie, who has a smug look on her face. “It’s not going to be shitty. I’m performing. It’s going to be fucking great.”

”Language at the breakfast table!” Greta says, trying to regain some sense of order.

”It’s not just the breakfast table, though. We eat other meals here too, mum.” Owen retorts.

Richie laughs again, happy that he’s still close to his kids, he’s still the cool parent. Greta sighs at their children, but she too has a smile on her face.

•••••••••••••  
  


Work is a bore, as usual. He used to have such a passion for this job but the flame seemed to have died out with his marriage.

Richie studied for years to graduate and become a fully qualified lawyer. He spent innumerable nights pouring over books and notes, watching recordings of proper court sessions so he could have an idea of what it would be like.

He’d gotten the job at Kensington’s Firm through a family friend, but he’d had to work his way up to the top to become the best. There was a hierarchy of sorts, one that depicted the pay and the quality of cases. He wasn’t at the top, not quite yet a partner, but he was an associate. Being an associate meant that he was cheaper to employ for an case than partners but still did an excellent job and earned excellent money.

Richie sips at his coffee and leans back in his chair, looking over all of the notes he had made regarding the case.

The case he was working on at the moment was unorthodox for multiple reasons.

Firstly, it wasn’t strictly the murder case he was used to ( _“Your honor, this person is guilty for the death of so and so and here are the reasons why.”)_ but something a little different. ( _”Tozier, it’s not what you’re used to but you’re the best man for the job. Find out what the hell Smith’s doing so we can prosecute him. I want you to become a partner, so for the love of god, do it well.)_

Secondly, he was working more as a detective or a P.I than a lawyer, and it irked him like nothing else. It wasn’t the fact that he had to go out into the field to figure things out, it was the fact that he had less free time because he was too busy with the Smith case. Richie had less time to spend with his family and it drove a wedge between him and his kids. He was waiting for the day they end up on Dr. Phil with them hounding him on why he wasn’t there during their childhood.

Richie is stressed.

Nothing he has found linked up and there was no way he was ever going to become a partner for the firm if he couldn’t work it out. He couldn’t wait until he was like Dan, able to hand out cases to associates like himself and make them better, train and guide them until they can become partners. As an associate, he had to have a partner, Dan, looks over his cases to make sure he knew what he was doing and that he was doing it right.

Dan liked to breath down his neck a lot, but he was a top-notch partner and an even better lawyer.

Richie quickly comes to the conclusion that he’s not going to find much else out by sitting on his ass and hoping that the case works itself out, so he tries to do something productive.

He could go down to the station and talk with the Sergeant who had been assigned to work with him. He should take a walk down to the main street and buy an actual coffee that doesn’t taste like dirt.

He should pay a visit to Eddie. His heart was pumping and crashing, trying to get out of the confinements his ribs created, needing to find Eddie and touch Eddie and know that Eddie’s okay.

“Fuck.” Richie whispers. He’s in a closed office and he knows no one else can hear, so he doesn’t bother with the 180 degree look around to make sure.

Eddie’s taking over his thoughts, the shorter male was always at the forefront of Richie’s mind.

It’s only been a few months since he’s known Eddie, since he’s been fooling around with Eddie, since he’s become attached to Eddie, but it feels like an eternity. Every second apart feels like years.

Richie needs to get his mind off of the Smith case and get back to Eddie.


	5. Five

_**Five** _

Richie doesn’t run to the bar. He just walks really fast once he got through the door. He’s still shocked at how busy the club is during the daylight hours. It’s nowhere near as packed as it is deep into the evening, but it’s still popular.

Once he reaches the bar, he slams his palms down onto the wooden surface. There’s two guys down the other end of the bar giving him distasteful looks over the brim of their drinks. Richie’s pretty sure they’re tourists.

“Eddie!” He calls, trying to get the shorter male’s attention. He’s cleaning a few glasses in the small sink in the bar. There’s probably a bigger sink out back for when things got really busy in here.

“Richie.” Eddie says, surprised by his appearance. “What are you doing here at 11am? I wasn’t expecting you for another few days, at least.”

“I have an emergency.” Richie says, quieter and calmer now that Eddie’s right in front of him. They’re both in work uniforms, consisting of black pants, a white button up shirt and a tie, but Richie’s also wearing his blazer. He’s trying to look older and more official and totally not because he wanted to impress Eddie.

“Oh?” Eddie asks, raising an eyebrow. He leans down, resting his elbows on the bar and then his chin on his palms. “An emergency, Mr.Tozier?”

Richie hums, has to physically stop himself from threading his fingers through Eddie’s hair. “Not that kind of emergency. I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Anything.” Eddie replies, almost immediately.

“Please come to my daughter’s showcase and pretend you’re some super cool dancing dude and give her pointers and help her out.”

Eddie’s taken aback. He blinks a few times and Richie regrets asking. “Oh, is she a dancer?”

“Yeah.” Richie breaths. He thinks that the fact that Eddie hadn’t said ‘no’ yet was reassuring. “And she’s really, really good. But she’s got a show tonight and she’s freaking herself out. She does this sometimes when she’s really nervous or stressed out, like for exams and stuff. She’ll know all the material but she gets so nervous about it over a few days and psyches herself out of it. If you could like, go up to her before the show and make her think that she’s got someone she needs to impress, she won’t stumble.”

Eddie frowns. “Won’t that make her more nervous?”

“No, it’ll make her work harder. Last year, Greta told her we’d take her wherever she wanted to go over summer break if she got at least three A’s. She got an A in every subject but one, which she got a B in. It works. We took her to France for like, a month.”

Eddie sighs, not liking the idea. “I’d love to, but I’ve got work tomorrow.”

“Please, Eds?” Richie purrs. “Please, for me baby? Won’t you do it for me?”

“This is blackmail.” Eddie points out, rolling his eyes at Richie’s pout. “I’ll be missing out on customers. You’re paying me.”

“How much?” Richie asks without hesitation.

“I’m in demand, Richie. It’s $100 per person and I usually get between 2-6 people on any given night. I’ll let you pay half because it’s you.” Eddie hums. He looks deep in thought as Richie stands there with his mouth wide open. He’s never paid $100 for a night with Eddie, not even the first time. After a few weeks Eddie hadn’t made him pay at all.

Eddie grins like the cheshire cat. Give me $75 and you’ve got a deal.”

Which, like, okay, that’s not how math works.

Richie’s not stupid. He’s dense and a little thick sometimes, but he’s not outright stupid. He knows Eddie’s giving him a bargain, and half of him is screaming to give him a million dollars. Maybe then he could get out of this shitty job and this even shittier town.

”I’m gonna give you $400, and you’ll sit beside me the entire time.” There, that seems fair. It’s not going to put Richie out of pocket and he wants to spoil Eddie a little. He wants to buy Eddie everything he could ever ask for.

“Won’t your wife be there?” Eddie asks, cocking his head so half of his light brunette hair falls over his eyes. Richie resists the urge to brush it back for him but he can’t, so he reaches a tentative hand out and softly tucks Eddie’s hair back in place.

“That’s what I’m counting on.”

Richie had grown up in a family with a lot of money, and as a lawyer with a wife who was a doctor, he still had lots of money. $400 isn’t extravagant, but it is a lot to spend just for Eddie to sit in an audience and talk to Bowie before she dances. But Eddie said that was what he got on most nights. If he was earning so much, why is he still here, shaking his ass for married men?

”Wait, you get given the full amount of what the customer pays right? And tips? Plus, you’re an employee, don’t you get a fixed wage? Where’s the money going?”

Eddie looks around, not like he’s nervous, more like he doesn’t want the two tourist in the corner listening in. “Rent, I guess. Whatever bartender that’s on shift. The bouncers. My manager. The other dancers. Even though I get paid double when I dance on stage, it gets spread pretty thin.”

“Why are you paying them? Don’t they earn their own money?” Although he knows what Eddie looks like when he orgasms and what it takes to get him to that point, Richie has no idea about Eddie’s life or where he even lives.

Eddie shrugs, like it’s not a big deal. “I tip the bartender so I can pretend to ‘shout’ customers their drinks without actually paying for them-“

“Isn’t that the bartender’s job, though?”

“Richie, shut up.”

He does so, looking down at their intwined hands that shit on the bar.

”Where was I? Right, the bartender. The bouncers need to be paid so they look after me in case anything happens. Why would they risk their necks to pull a customer off of me if they don’t get anything out of it? My manager gets 20% of whatever I make and I pay the other dancers because I earn the most and they need it more than I do. Nobody rich ends up a stripper, Richie. They all live in really shitty situations and an extra $20 a day makes everything so much better for them.”

Richie was partly sick of asking questions, but he couldn’t get enough of Eddie talking, and he was so curious about the younger boy. He wants to know everything.

“Do you end up with enough to pay rent and buy food and stuff?”

”I do what I can with what I have.”

“God Eddie, please let me give you the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter update than usual sorry:(  
> Also chapter 6 will kind of be a smut filler  
> And chapter 7 will continue with this chapter about Eddie going to Bowie’s dance show.


	6. Six

_**Six** _

There’s only so many excuses Richie can make up before somebody realizes he’s leaving the house too often. Richie doesn’t care though. His kids are old enough to be independent and they don’t need him, and Greta doesn’t care anymore. He feels like he has a responsibility to let them know that he won’t home though, so he leaves a note on the kitchen table. He can’t bare to tell anyone in person because he’s a coward.

He needs Eddie.

When he’s with Eddie, everything is okay. Richie’s world is brighter and everything makes sense. He feels like he can do anything. When he’s not with Eddie, he feels empty and his world is various shades of grey.

Eddie is the only one who understands him. God, they don’t do anything but fuck and Richie would do anything Eddie asked of him. Set the world on fire? Not a problem.

He doesn’t actually know a lot about Eddie. He doesn’t know how Eddie became a stripper or what his family is like or where he grew up. He doesn’t know if Eddie prefers cats or dogs, if he drinks and smokes, _and if he even cares about Richie at all._

He doesn’t know if Eddie’s as excited to see him as he is to Eddie whenever he walks through the door. He doesn’t know if Eddie prefers riding or missionary or doggy style. They usually just go with what works at the time.

It’s almost always rushed. Either Richie needs to get back to work or there’s a customer waiting for Eddie, but they’ve only had the time to take it slow a few times.

Richie wants to take it slow again.

The music is blaring when Richie walks inside, as it usually is, and his eyes find Eddie immediately. Eddie doesn’t see him though, he’s too focused on what he’s doing.

Eddie is on stage and it is one of the most provocative things in the world. Richie loves it.

Although he doesn’t know much about Eddie, he knows Eddie’s dream is to be a dancer. Not a stripper dancer like he is now, but a real and famous dancer on broadway. Richie has the funds to keep Bowie dancing for the rest of her life if she wanted to, but nobody can pay for Eddie to get to NYC. He wants to work for Ballet Deviare, a contemporary ballet company in New York. Richie knows that much about him.

And by the way he has the crowd enthralled, Richie knows Eddie will make it one day. 

The shorter male is erotic and exciting. He kneels on the stage and spreads his legs, neck thrown back as his hand touches his member through the dance pants. He’s not actually touching himself—it’s not live porn—he’s just getting the audience excited.

Richie knows the exact moment Eddie sees him through the throngs of people. Richie can see how Eddie’s eyes light up with happiness, like Richie turned a switch and the hazel eyes are now incandescent light bulbs. Then Eddie’s eyes widen and he smirks, letting Richie know he’s doomed. Eddie turns up the sexiness to a thousand, really laying it on thick.

He dances in beat to the song, his toned legs shown off in splits and other movements Richie doesn’t know the names of. At one point, Eddie makes a ‘come hither’ motions with his fingers as one of his legs is up by his head. God, Richie never knew Eddie was that flexible.

A few other employees eye Richie up as he sits alone, but even Richie knows the rule, don’t steal someone’s regular, no matter what. Richie is Eddie’s regular. _Richie is his, goddammit._

Eddie spends another ten minutes on stage and when his turn is over he makes a beeline for Richie. He doesn’t even stop to get a towel or water, instead planting himself on Richie’s lap, sweaty and panting.

“Hey, Eds.” He murmurs, running his hands along Eddie’s thighs.

”Hi, daddy.”

Richie raises his eyebrows at the pet name. It doesn’t come up very often, only a handful of times since they started this, but it turns Richie on more than anything. The word doesn’t have the same effect if anyone else were to call him that, just Eddie.

”You danced so beautifully up there.”

”Did you like that?”

“Of course I did, baby. You wanna go somewhere a little more private?”

Eddie cocks his head and laughs a little. “You mean the sex room?”

Richie leans forward and almost forgets about the no-kissing rule. If Eddie’s boss or coworkers saw the two kissing, it would be a shit storm. The employees aren’t supposed to kiss the customers. “Yeah. Let’s go so I can kiss you.”

Eddie jumps off of Richie’s lap eagerly and grabs the man’s hand, dragging him to the back of the club. The second the door closes behind them, Richie is all over Eddie. He moves them so Eddie’s back is pressed flat against the door and Richie begins to kiss him.

It’s messy and a little sloppy, Eddie always kisses like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance. When they need to pause to breathe, Richie moves down to Eddie’s neck. The shorter male’s skin is so warm. It’s not going as slow as he wanted it to, but he loves it. Eddie could anything and Richie would love it. Richie loves Eddie.

He pulls back, moving to sit on the sofa-like bench lining the perimeter of the room.

“Dance for daddy, baby. Show me what you can do.”

Eddie grins and starts to dance. It’s not the same kind of erotic dancing he did on stage, but it’s also not the same as Bowie’s ballet. It’s in the middle, like provocative contemporary, if that’s a thing.

All Richie knows is that Eddie is the sexiest person on the side planet.

When Eddie is done, he plants himself back on Richie’s lap, laughing into the man’s chest. “Oh my god, that was so awkward.”

Richie snorts, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s middle. “Please, you’re the hottest person I know.”

“How many people do you know, old man?”

Richie pulls Eddie closer, so he’s sitting directly on Richie’s dick. So Eddie can feel how hard he is and that he is not an old man, plus thirty two isn’t even that old.

”Can I eat you out?”

Eddie visibly shudders at Richie’s words, just the thought of Richie’s tongue on his hole excites him.

”Please.” He whispers.

Richie gives Eddie a minute to get on all fours before he pulls Eddie’s underwear down. Eddie has a nice ass, Richie notes. It’s not too big but it’s not flat either, Richie is happy to bury his face in such a nice ass.

He grabs each cheek with his hands, pulling them apart to reveal the pink hole. He tentatively licks over it and Eddie moans, making Richie do it again. Richie then rolls his tongue before sticking it in. He tongue-fucks Eddie and before long Eddie’s arms are buckling until he falls. Richie doesn’t stop, removing one of his hand’s from Eddie’s ass to put it on Eddie’s dick.

The combined feeling of a tongue in his hole and a hand stroking his dick sets Eddie off and he comes all over Richie’s hand. Richie pulls his tongue out immediately, not wanting to overstimulate his boy.

_His boy._


	7. Seven

_**Seven** _

The theatre that Bowie is performing at is huge, and it’s packed. Greta leads him to a seat near the front where Owen sits on his phone, the seats around him saved by his lanky outstretched legs.

”Where is everyone?”

Owen shrugs. “No one wants to sit next to a fourteen year old who’ll be trying to beat level seventeen throughout the entire performance.”

”How have you not gotten past level seventeen by now?” Richie asks.

“Zombies.”

”I see.”

He scans the room for a certain light haired brunette, either Eddie or Bowie, he’s not sure. Either would be good. He spies them both at the same time Greta does and she pokes him in the side.

“Do you think that’s a scout, Richie? Has she got scouts looking at her?”

“I don’t know.” Richie lies through his teeth. “Maybe? Do you want me to check? Introduce myself?”

She shoos him up and out of his seat quickly, eyes trained on their daughter. So maybe he and Greta have been fighting almost non-stop for the last two years; subtly, in the background where no one but the ghosts of their romance can hear, but their children and their children’s success in life means more than anything to them, to both of them. It’s one of the only things they can both agree on.

Richie catches the end of Eddie’s and Bowie’s conversation as he slinks in beside his daughter. He acts like he understands what they’re saying.

”Does your dance feature any penché’s?”

Bowie shakes her head. “Two arabesque’s, one second and one fourth.”

“While they’re basic, it takes a little skill to keep them perfectly straight. Make sure you keep your arabesque’s straight, and your legs aligned, or it will look off, all right?” Eddie says, sounding more like her mentor than a stranger, though Richie can tell his daughter is soaking this all up. He’s heard the same thing a million times from Bowie’s dance instructor, but she’s acting like it’s all new information.

Richie doesn’t understand a thing she’s saying but Eddie’s eyes light up with all the dance talk. He leaves them to it and waits a few minutes for them to wrap it up and acknowledge his presence.

Bowie smiles charmingly and thanks Eddie. Richie loves the fact that she’s acting like she knows who Eddie is, like he’s some big shot dancer. He thinks that Eddie would be absolutely perfect doing this for a job, mentoring kids and shaping them into perfect little dancers. “I need to finish getting ready but it was lovely to meet you, Mr. Kaspbrak!”

Richie waits until Bowie has walked away before he turns to Eddie. “Mr. Kaspbrak, huh?”

“You’re a fucking piece of shit, Richie.” Eddie says.

”What? Why?”

“You’re making me lie to that poor little girl. There is no way in hell she is your daughter, she is too pure and sweet and very lovely.”

“You’ve known her for five minutes!” Richie defends. He’s pretending that he’s not hurt by Eddie’s words. Bowie is a teenager though, she speaks in sarcasm and incoherent grunts. The only time she’s sweet and lovely is in public, he and Greta taught their kids how to behave in front of strangers.

The lights in the theatre dim slightly, which apparently is some kind of cue for the audience to sit down. Leading Eddie back to his family, Richie resists the urge to grab the shorter’s male hand. Sitting next to Greta, who’s next to Owen, Richie sits down and introduces his wife to the man he’s been fucking behind her back.

“Greta, this is Eddie Kaspbrak and Eddie this is Greta.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Greta smiles, full and bright and dying to impress. “My daughter will be ecstatic that you’re here watching her.”

Eddie smiled back. It might be because Richie’s known him for as long as he has, but it looks fake, or nervous. Richie almost forgot that Eddie wasn’t a real dance scout, because he’s damn sure acting the part with his dance talk and attire. His black blazer matches his black jeans and black button down. Richie also realizes that his nose and lip ring are out, leaving his lips plumped and flawless and way too fucking perfect.

Greta turns to Owen and starts to scold him for something or another, leaving Richie and Eddie free to talk.

“I’m so rusty on my dance knowledge.” Eddie chuckles nervously. “I haven’t done ballet for years, I’m used to stripper talk like ‘I’m going to do a high-pole-slide into a spilt and roll out into a tiger crawl.’ Don’t think you want me telling your daughter that, though.”

“Definitely not.”

It’s silent for a few more minutes before: “You didn’t tell me she did ballet.” Eddie starts, obviously trying for a conversation.

“I can’t keep track of what she does. All I know is that she’s damn good at it.”

The lights dim completely, engulfing the theatre in a black abyss as Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but the curtains are opening and hush descends on the crowd. It takes almost ten minutes and three good dance acts for Bowie to appear on stage but once she does, she captures Richie’s attention immediately. She’s not just good, she’s amazing.

Although it’s a showcase for her dance company and not just her, Richie thinks it should’ve just been ‘The Bowie Show’.

The spotlight falls onto her, a singular beam of light falling upon a singular dancer. The rest of the performers had left the stage, giving her the floor. She’s mesmerizing, her pirouette’s and revoltade’s are better than any broadway star, according to Eddie’s insistent muttering. He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide and focused as he absorbs every move Bowie makes.

Richie feels love. Love for his daughter, who is owning the stage and making it hers. She’s dancing her sixteen year old little heart out, far better than any professional dancer(or at least in Richie’s eyes).

Love for his son who has turned the brightness and sound on his phone all the way down so he wouldn’t disturb anyone as he decapitated zombies. He glances up occasionally, at least a little impressed, but at fourteen years old the zombies were his main priority.

Love for the light haired brunette man next to him, who is the epitome of a pop punk song, too eager to get out of this crappy town for his own good. 

So much love, but not enough for the woman beside him, whom he should love the most.

• • • • • • •  
  


“Honey.” Greta says quietly to Richie after Bowie’s show. “You’ll have the house to yourself tonight.”

”What, why?” Richie asks, frowning. He knows he sounds whiny but he hates being and feeling alone. He’s meant to be a grown ass man, but inside he’s still the seven year old who’s scared of the dark. Greta’s known him long enough to know this, and with the sympathetic look she gives him, he knows she knows.

“Bowie wants to visit my mother and show her the performance that I recorded and Owen’s staying at a friend’s.”

“Isn’t it a bit late?”

”It’s eight pm, Richie.” Greta laughs. “God you’re getting old.” They’re the same age. She pecks him on the cheek and walks backstage. He thinks she’s going to see Bowie and tell her what a good job she did before they drive out to the middle of nowhere and visit Sarah, Greta’s mother.

“I’m thirty-five!” Richie yells after her, much to the obvious displeasure of the people around them.

Richie looks over to Owen, his last hope. “Please tell me you’re staying Owen?”

The fourteen year old shakes his head and pockets his phone. “Nope. Sam’s got The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt and although the first two were crap, this one is meant to be great.”

“What’s the rating?” Richie asks suspiciously because he’s a father and he’s meant to be mature and shit.

Rolling his eyes, the fourteen year old says “I’m pretty sure it’s MA15, but if it’s R18, I’ll make sure to walk twenty blocks home in the dark and possibly get murdered by a creepy guy with a machete just because I’m four years too young to see animated gore. As if I haven’t seen animated gore before.”

“That’s my boy.” Richie pulls Owen close and nuzzles his nose into his brown curls. He’s waiting for the day for Owen to swat him away and tell him he’s too old for that shit, but he hasn’t yet. Richie hopes he never does. “Have you got a ride or do you want me to drop you off?”

“You, please.” Owen answers before pulling away and pulling out his phone, sitting on the closet push seat and resuming his game.

The show’s over so all the lights are on and Owen’s phone brightness is all the way because he can’t pester anyone now. Richie turns to Eddie, talking in hushed tones so Owen doesn’t hear. “Need a ride?”

“Yes, please. Mike kinda ditched on me as soon as he dropped me off.”

”He?” Richie repeats, telling himself that he’s not jealous, he’s just....

Really fucking jealous.

“Yeah, he. Male. My brother.” He rolls his eyes, reminding Richie eerily of both Owen and Bowie. They both had a bad habit of rolling their eyes at everything Richie did. Richie just assumed it was a teenage thing, but maybe it was a people younger than him thing. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Spank the fucking shit out of you.” Richie murmurs, watching Eddie bite down hard on his lip. There’s a little hole where his lip ring is meant to be, and Richie wants to lick it. He maintains eye contact with Eddie, a sign of dominance and power maybe. Maybe he likes the innocence Eddie’s eyes produce. The naivety of the young, his father used to say.

“Wait..how old are you?” Richie asks because he knows it’s illegal for the club to hire underage strippers and prostitutes plus he needs to know he hasn’t been fucking a minor for the past six months. Eddie doesn’t look young, but he needs to know.

“I’m not the youngest one at the club, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m twenty one, please don’t make a Vine reference.”

At least he’s not underage. “A what?”

Eddie laughs, clear and clean and crisp. “Greta was right, you are old.”

Richie pouts and Eddie leans in for a kiss but Richie remembers that Owen is literally five feet away and they’re in public and this isn’t the time or place. He coughs, loudly and obviously fake.

”So, um, let’s get going?” He asked his boys.

Because that’s exactly what they are; his. Owen is his son and he has that connection with him that he and Bowie just don’t have. He supports and loves his kids to death, but there are some things that Bowie doesn’t feel comfortable in telling him. Like boyfriends and periods and bad test results and that’s fine because it’s not as if he’s about to tell anyone about Eddie any time soon. She looks like him though, with her hazel eyes and button nose. She inherited Greta’s blond curly hair but she dyes it light brunette regularly and spends hours straightening it every morning. An act of rebellion. A clear ‘ _dad’s the good cop in this situation and you’re the bad cop, I like him more._ ’

Owen was the exact carbon copy of fourteen year old Richie, with his freckles and bad eyesight but had Greta’s blonde curly hair. He was a massive fucking nerd basically, just how Richie was at fourteen, and Richie loves his massive fucking nerd son. 

And Eddie is his. Richie’s well aware of the fact that Eddie is a sex worker and fucks people who aren’t necessarily him, but Eddie doesn’t kiss any of his customers. Yet here he is kissing Richie every time he can. And Eddie has confided in him various times over the month of rendezvousing that sex with Richie didn’t feel like sex with anyone else. Eddie has his own dreams and aspirations that he wants to live through and Richie likes that he is his own person. But he also likes how in the bedroom, or rather the back room of the club, Eddie was his. His to do what he wished with. He would never do anything Eddie wasn’t comfortable with but the thought of dominating the younger brunette made his head spin.

The two younger boys follow him out of the theatre and into the parking lot. They’re squabbling over the front seat like Owen and Bowie do; like little kids.

Richie sighs. He’s falling for someone who’s closer to his youngest child’s age than his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miss Vine😔  
> Tiktok isn’t really my thing


	8. Eight

_**Eight** _

”And I swear to god Owen, if you come home smelling like weed, you’re grounded for the rest of your life.”

”I’m fourteen!” Owen retorts through the open window of the passenger seat. “What do you think we do, drugs and sex? All I want is a strawberry milkshake and a dog, god.”

“Text me later.” Richie says, ignoring his son’s sarcasm. Between him and Bowie, Richie couldn’t even tell when they were being sarcastic or not. “I’ll pick you up whenever just let me know. Love you.”

”You’re lake.” He says, walking away from the car and knocking on the front door of his friend Sam’s house.

Richie smiles at Owen before looking over into the backseat where Eddie’s sitting. He lost the seating argument with Owen before they left, meaning he sat by himself and pouted for the entire drive. Richie motions with his head for Eddie to get into the front seat. He does as told, forever obedient, clambering over the center console in such an ungrateful manner it almost makes Richie laugh. Eddie’s supposed to be some elegant dancer except Richie’s knows that when he’s not dancing, he’s about as graceful as a newborn deer.

“Your son and I are one.” Eddie starts as Richie pulls out onto the road, beginning the journey home. He wasn’t going to spend the night at the house alone and he was hoping Eddie wouldn’t mind spending the night with him. “We both think you’re lame.”

”Lame, huh?” Richie asks, fairly rhetorical. He knows he’s getting old and that he’s not as cool as he used to be, but whether he’s cool doesn’t mean he isn’t a great father. Or an even greater fuck.

“The lamest. Do you even know who Siri is? Kim Kardashian? Do you play bingo every Friday night at the retirement home?”

”I’m thirty five Eddie, that doesn’t mean I don’t keep up to date with fucking pop culture.”

“Maybe you’re losing your touch, that didn’t even get me hard.” Eddie teases. He sighs dramatically, looking out the window.

“Don’t think that I haven’t forgotten about your spanking tonight, baby boy. As soon as we get home I’m bending you over the nearest table and spanking you raw. I’ll fuck you in every room in the house before midnight. Don’t fucking test me.”

”Oooooh, daddy’s getting mad.”

Richie keeps his eyes on the road as he removes one of his hand from the steering wheel, resting it on Eddie’s knee. He starts stroking up towards Eddie’s dick, not daring to breathe. The last thing he wants to do is overstep his boundaries but god, he wants this. His hand stays there, heavy and solid without moving.

“Like I said, Eddie. Don’t fucking test me.”

Eddie is silent the whole drive home which Richie is only slightly concerned about. Eddie is usually quiet but Richie loves the sound of his voice. Loves how smooth and lovely it is, loves his moans and whimpers. He loves his talking voice and his fuck me now voice plus his fucked out voice.

When they pull up in the driveway, Richie sees that Greta must’ve left the porch light on before they left as the entire front of the house is illuminated by a yellow glow. It’s little things like that which set off the atomic bomb of guilt in Richie. She knows him inside out, knows that coming home to a dark house would set him off and he wouldn’t be able to sleep for fear of the monsters in the dark.

Richie swallows the thick gulp of saliva in his mouth and smiles weakly at Eddie. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

“Well, this makes my two room apartment look like a wardrobe but okay.”

Richie chuckles in a manner akin to feeble, out stretching his hand for Eddie. Eddie takes it without hesitation, sending Richie a reassuring smile.

“We don’t have to do this.” He says.

”Do what?”

“This.” Eddie stresses. “This whole take me into your house, replace your wife thing. I’m fine as being a casual fuck. You don’t need to prove something to yourself. It’s not like fucking me in the bed that you and your wife have slept in for years is going to be a symbolic ending to your marriage or whatever. We can go back to mine. We don’t have to do this.”

Shaking his head, Richie removes his hand from Eddie’s, placing it on the underside of his chin. “It’s not about that. It’s never been about that. This was me inviting you into my life. This was me trying to prove that I love you in more than a casual fuck kind of way. Let me love you, Eddie. Let me be your one and only. I don’t want you to replace Greta. She’s been the love of my life since I was younger than you are. Hell, I was marrying her and having Bowie younger than you are. She’s the mother of my children, I couldn’t replace her if I tried. It’s not about replacing her. It’s about me admitting the death of our failed marriage and wanting to move on with someone who gives a damn about me and isn’t caught up in the idea of having a perfect family.”

Richie stops when he sees the tears pooling in Eddie’s hazel eyes, wiping them away with the pad of his thumb.

“Show me what true love is.” Eddie murmurs.

• • • • • • •

Eddie walks slowly through Richie’s house, taking his time to admire every aspect of the two story house. Richie wants to take him by the hand and drag him to the bedroom and have his way with him. Instead he stuffs his hands into his pockets and follows the other male. Eddie’s not saying anything, but his hands are running over everything. The breakfast bar, the leather couch, the photo frames in the hallway.

“How do you have such good kids?” Eddie inquires, fingers ghosting over Richie’s favorite family portrait. They hired a photographer to come in and take photos(mainly for Christmas cards and for Greta to show off at work) and the kids had dressed in their finest Sunday clothes. Greta refused to let Bowie straighten her hair, meaning she had it pinned up in a bun so you couldn’t see the blond curly ringlets; her tiny way of rebelling. She hates showing her blond curly hair, Richie knows. Maybe because the blond curls gave her a connection to her mother and straight brunette hair makes her look more like a Tozier. He doesn’t really know.

Richie loves the photo because his smile was genuine and he looked happy, which was something that he hadn’t felt in a while.

“That was taken barley a month before I met you.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again. “Why did you need me as your escape when you have kids like that? They’re so polite and well dressed and smart. How the hell did you get so lucky?”

Richie shrugs awkwardly. “Greta and I had pretty shit parents, I guess. Well she had a shitty dad, but her mom isn’t so shitty. We didn’t want to raise our kids like we were raised. We wanted them to be happy and loved and for them to have everything they could ever want.”

Eddie smiles. “Aw, that’s cute.” He saunters over to Richie, hooking his arms around the older man’s neck. Richie grins and almost gets hard on the spot because this is what he’s been waiting for all night for. “But you’re everything I could ever want.”

“You’re pretty good yourself, baby.” Richie whispers, his fingers dancing on Eddie’s ass. The brunette gets the message, jumping high and wrapping his legs around Richie’s hips. They don’t move for a moment, simply admiring the other before Eddie leans forward like a snake and crashes his lips onto Richie’s. Richie grunts in surprise but reciprocates the favor, kissing back just as hard. It’s sloppy but rough and full of passion. Walking down the hall with Eddie still in his arms, Richie makes his way towards the bedroom. He almost collides with the wall or a piece of furniture various times.

He lowers Eddie onto the silk sheets of his and Greta’s bed and he almost feels too guilty to continue. But Eddie’s looking up at him with those wide, lust blown eyes and he’s got his lips between his teeth and Richie’s gone for him. He begins to straddle the brunette, his thighs bracketing Eddie’s hips and he rolls his hips, making his kisses leisurely.

Richie doesn’t even open his eyes as he reaches out a hand to open the second drawer down on the nightstand for a condom and some lube. Eddie’s kissing him with such ferocity that Richie worries momentarily for the stage of his lips. Eddie loves kissing with teeth, and their lips are going to be bloody soon.

Richie pulls away to take the rest of their clothes off and Eddie whines at the sudden lack of Richie’s lips on his.

“Baby.” Richie says, in a slight warning tone in his voice.

”What?”

”You’re whining, princess.”

“So?” Eddie asks, acting defiant. He wants a reaction out of Richie, wants to see how far Richie’s willing to take this. Placing the lube and condom to the side, Richie hovers above Eddie, a sign of dominance.

“Daddy doesn’t like it when you whine, baby.”

”What does daddy want me to do with my mouth, then?” It’s an invitation, but Richie doesn’t want his dick sucked. He really just wants to be inside Eddie. He doesn’t want it to be dirty and sensual like it usually is at the club. Richie just wants it to be slow and sweet and filled with love. He’s a sucker for romance but more importantly, he’s a sucker for Eddie.

”Daddy wants you to keep your pretty mouth shut.”

Eddie whines low in his throat in lust but Richie chooses to ignore it, peeling off his shirt tantalizingly slow. He then pops the button on his jeans and slides the material down his legs, along with his boxers. He’s naked in front of Eddie while the brunette is still dressed. Eddie moves to take his shirt off too, but Richie stops him by placing his hand over the top of Eddie’s where it’s resting on the top button of his shirt.

“Let daddy do it, baby.”

Eddie just nods, moving his hands out of the way so Richie can undress him. Richie takes his time with it, not trying to be a tease but prolonging the foreplay. He loves the impatient noises Eddie’s trying to hide. Loves the way his hands twitch because he needs to do something with them but he doesn’t want to disobey his daddy. Richie finishes undressing Eddie until every inch of his skin is touching Eddie’s skin and everything feels right in the world. He tears the wrapper off of the condom and after pumping himself a few times, slides the rubber onto his dick.

”You ready for my fingers, baby boy?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Don’t need them. I’m ready, please, please, please.”


	9. Nine

**Nine**  
  


Richie groans at Eddie’s words, placing himself so his dick is on Eddie’s hole, but not yet inside. Eddie’s eyes are wide and he already looks blissed out as he bites down on his bottom lip.

”Are you sure?” Richie asks again. Eddie was kind of right when he said this had something to do with symbolism or whatever. He wasn’t going to do anything his lover didn’t want to do in his wife’s bed. He was going to pleasure Eddie like he hadn’t been pleasured before. The greasy, drunk, hairy old men at the club could never compare to Richie.

Eddie huffs, looping his arms around Richie’s neck and pulling him down so they’re face to face. “I want this.” He says quietly, just to Richie as if there was anyone else in the room. “I promise. Please fuck me, daddy.”

”Fuck.” Richie swears. He connects his lips to Eddie’s and inches himself into Eddie until he bottoms out. “You ready?”

“Fucking hell, Richie. Get off, I’ll do this myself.”

Richie does as he told, pulling out carefully so he won’t hurt Eddie. He’s actually confused until Eddie gets up on his knees and gestures for Richie to lie down. For being the dominant one out of the two them, he sure is willing to do whatever Eddie wants tonight. Eddie straddles Richie’s thighs, kissing him once and then raises himself so he’s hovering over Richie’s dick. He holds it behind him in one hand and sinks down on it slowly. He lifts almost all the way up again and drops, repeating the movement until he’s bouncing on Richie’s hard length.

“Oh my god.” Richie grunts, overwhelmed by the feeling of being inside Eddie but not being in control. He liked it, not having the responsibility of making sure every thrust was perfect for Eddie. If Eddie wasn’t hitting the right spot himself, he would move an inch so Richie’s dick would brush his prostate.

“Fuck, fuck, please! Right there, please, Richie, fuck, feels so good. So full, so fucking good!”

“Shut up, Eddie.” Richie laughs feebly.

It was dirty sex, but the amount of love radiating throughout the room made up for the face down wedding pictures and abandoned wedding rings that were gathering dust on the dresser. Richie hadn’t felt this much love in so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Loving someone with all his heart was such a familiar feeling. He loved his kids more than he’d ever loved anything, but his love for Eddie was so different. So complex, so intricate.

Eddie whines in pleasure, making Richie raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t daddy tell you to keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“But it feels so good.” Eddie pants. “Fuck. Harder! Fuck right there. Please Richie! God that feels so good!”

Richie never thought that someone panting in his ear would turn him on so much. Maybe if it were anyone other than Eddie it wouldn’t have the same affect, but god, it was hot. 

“I love you.” Eddie whispers, staring into Richie’s eyes. They were dark and full of lust, but the innocent hazel shone through, as bright as ever, and Richie couldn’t look away.

”I love you too, so much, baby boy. I love you.”

Richie groans and bucks his hips, spilling into the condom. Eddie bounces weakly a few more times before he cums over Richie’s chest and slumps in his spot.

”Come here, baby.” Richie whispers. Eddie’s practically comatose at the point, and Richie’s partly concerned and partly endeared. He’s never been so tired after sex before, but he had done all the work, so Richie cuts him a break. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Seeing as Eddie refuses to cooperate, Richie has to lift him up and physically carry him into the ensuite’s shower. He holds Eddie in one hand and opens the glass door with the other, twisting the hot water handle. Carrying Eddie is like carrying Bowie and Owen when they were babies. You had to take them everywhere, with them cuddled into your chest and had to learn how to do things with one hand.

Once the water’s got enough, Richie stands Eddie on his own two feet and ducks him under the water. Instead of clenching his eyes shut at the sudden onslaught of water like Richie thought he would, Eddie revels in the hot water. He’s looking as pornographic as the magazines hidden under Owen’s bed that he totally knows absolutely nothing about. 

Eddie and Richie switch places so Richie can get clean and wash the cum off his chest. As he’s rubbing the pink bar of soap over his skin, Eddie finally opens his eyes and looks slightly awake.

”Did I tell you that I loved you? Like, out loud? Was that a real thing that just happened?”

”Uh, yeah.”

“Fuck. Well, um—“

“Hey.” Richie interjects. “If you don’t remember, I said I loved you too. Love, present tense. Still do. Always will. Probably, I don’t know if something will happen in the future but for now, I love you with all my heart.”

Eddie grins, bright and beautiful and breathtaking through the steam and water surrounding them. “I’ve never said that and meant it so much.”

“Aw.” Richie says. “You fucking nerd.”

”Shut up.”

“What did daddy say, baby?”

”That I should keep my pretty mouth shut?”

”That’s right.” Richie says, turning the shower off and grabbing the fluffiest towel off of the rack, handing it to Eddie. Only the best for his baby boy, even if it is only in the form of a fucking towel.

• • • • • • • 

Eddie is a walking stereotype, Richie decides. 

He’s watching as Eddie decides what to wear the morning after Bowie’s performance. At first, Eddie didn’t even want to get out of bed, groaning in protest when Richie tried to lift him up. When he finally shot out of bed, it was only because Richie offered him a blowjob which Richie soon took back. He was too busy laughing at the glaring shorter male to suck him off then and there. Instead, he now owes Eddie one.

Eddie stood in front of Richie’s side of the closet, indecisive about the array of band tees and hawaiian style shirts on the hangers in front of him.

”I can just wear what I wore last night.” Eddie points out, gesturing towards his jean-clad legs. “I don’t need to steal your shirts.”

”You mean, you come come to my bed for the night and you won’t even take a shirt? What kind of one-night stand was this?”

“One-night stand?” Eddie repeats, tone neutral. In that moment, Richie regrets ever saying anything.

”I was joking baby, I promise.” He says, standing up off the bed and coming up behind Eddie. “You know you’re more than that right? You know that the sun doesn’t shine when you’re not around? You know that—“

“Okay.” Eddie laughs, turning around to face Richie. His face holds no traces of hurt so Richie figures that he got away with it. He was just joking, he didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did. Somehow, it sounded different in his head. Greta always complained that he spoke aloud without thinking; No filter, she’d say. “You can stop now.”

“Don’t like me complimenting you, baby?” Richie grins. “Well, too bad. You’re astonishingly beautiful. Your hazel eyes are the brightest and I’ve never seen eyes that sparkle as much as them. Your voice is harmonic, your moans and grunts only make it even better. Your legs are so toned and smooth and look so good wrapped around me. And,” Richie says, leaning in close so he can whisper in Eddie’s ear. “Your tight hole is so fucking perfect. Take me so well, don’t you princess?”

”Shut up.” Eddie groans, trying to push Richie away. “You’re disgusting.”

”You’re flustered.”

“I’m not!”

”You are!”

”I’m not!”

”I have two children, Eddie. I can go on like this for days. I’ve done it before.”

Eddie sighs, turning back to the closet. “Help me pick a shirt.”

The sound of his ringtone interrupts his train of thought and Richie frowns, wondering where he left it. He spies his jacket and walks over, away from Eddie, digging deep in the pocket. He quickly types in the four digit password,(2252, B.T.O.T. It translates to Bowie Tozier and Owen Tozier. Bowie did it and he has no idea how to change it and even if he could, he doesn’t want to.) finding a text from Bowie.

_Bowie😄💓:_

_Mom and I are on West Coast Road and we’re picking up Owen on the way. Be home soon ily!_

She’d stolen his phone once, changed the password and edited hers and Owen’s contact names to her desire. Owen’s name was followed by a bunch of aliens and skulls emojis.

From experience, Richie knows that West Coast Road is at least an hour away and knowing Greta and Bowie, they’ll stop for coffee as well. He has plenty of time to get Eddie home and make it look like he was never even here.

”Important?” Eddie asks, gesturing towards the phone.

”Just Bowie, they’ll be home soon. Need a ride?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I’ll just walk to the bus stop.”

”It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to let you take a bus home.” Richie says, wrinkling his nose.

“Oh, no! Me a prostitute and stripper, mingling with peasants! On public transportation! With germs and middle class people! How shall I do it?”

“Shut up.” Richie whines, repeating Eddie’s words from earlier. It seems to be all they ever say to each other and Richie’s glad that they’re close enough for gentle teasing.

Silence fills the room and it’s opulent and not the slightest bit awkward, which is a nice change for Richie. As he reaches into the closet and grabs his favorite Metallica shirt, Richie feels a pair of eyes on him. He turns around, looking back at Eddie. 

“What?” He asks, suddenly feeling self conscious.

”How did we end up like this? You’re middle aged with two kids and I’m a stripper. How is this even possible?”

“First of all, I’m thirty five, not middle aged so still kind of young. Sometimes people just fall in love. Race, gender, age.” Richie says the last word pointedly. “It doesn’t matter, nothing does. As long as everyone in the relationship is happy, who gives a shit. I don’t. I love you, that’s it, simple as that.”

”Richie, I—“

”Don’t.” Richie whispers. “Just leave it. Just kiss me.”

Eddie has always been a passionate kisser. Maybe due to his job, maybe he’s just always eager. Either way, Richie’s gotten used to the feverish way Eddie’s tongue caresses his and the soft scrape of his teeth on Richie’s bottom lip. He’s gotten used to trying to slow down his kisses with slow guidance. He’s gotten used to Eddie stubbornly refusing to give in, keeping it rough and swift.

Once they pull apart, Eddie’s panting and his cheeks are painted a blotchy red. Richie hands Eddie the Metallica tee silently and steps back.

”I don’t want you to leave.” Richie says quietly.

Eddie leans forwards once more for one gentle peck. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind being your secret mistress.” He smirks, walking out the door. Richie can hear his footsteps on the stairs and feels a tug in his gut when the front door closes. He feels his heart go with Eddie, out the gate and down the street to the bus stop.

Richie mentally plans another trip to the club soon.


	10. Ten

_**Ten** _

Eddie is moaning and writhing and it’s almost too much for Richie. As an adult, he should be able to hold out longer than Eddie. The brunette is ruining him.

With his mouth pressed tight against Eddie’s and a hand down the boy’s boxers, Richie can’t stop thinking about the blowjob he owes Eddie. He can’t stop thinking about getting his mouth around the other male’s cock and sucking him off until he creams in Richie’s mouth.

It’s kind of disgusting, how badly Richie wants it. He’s thirty-five; he’s grown. He should be able to control himself.

Eddie grinds down on Richie’s clothes dick, kissing down Richie’s jaw and neck as he unbuttons Richie’s previously crisp white shirt. Richie’s hands run over Eddie’s exposed back, the skin warm and smooth, and he thinks _fuck it._

”Hey baby?”

“Mm?” Eddie hums, his mouth occupied with sucking on Richie’s neck. When he bites too hard Richie winces and Eddie apologizes with running his tongue over the bruise.

“Mind if I suck you off? Payback for when you were at my house, and I said I owed you one blowjob. Can I cash in on that now?”

“You wanna suck me off?”

Richie nods enthusiastically. “Really, yeah.”

Eddie looks skeptical and it takes Richie a minute to realize that he probably doesn’t get blowjobs often. Eddie’s job is to please, not to be pleased.

Richie’s gonna please the crap out of him.

• • • • • • •

Greta got pregnant with Bowie almost as soon as they were out of high school.

Richie was nineteen and Greta was eighteen when the white stick showed two blue lines. Richie was an intern at some crappy law firm in the city that dealt with one case a year(if they were lucky). Fortunately, they paid well, seeing as the accountant overpaid everyone. With that money, Richie was able to buy him and Greta an average two bedroom flat.

It was perfect for them. It was close to a train station and close to Greta’s university. It was also close to a hospital, so when the time came, they had easy access to the hospital.

They called the baby ‘baby’ until she was born. They continued to call her ‘baby’ until she was three months old and Greta’s mother called her Bowie and it stuck.

Bowie May Tozier. 

They were young, they were in love, they were happy.

A few months later, Richie got offered a job at Kensington’s, a bigger firm who received new cases constantly and needed new people to work on them, by a family friend. Only problem was that Richie never went to law school. Solution came in the form of the crappy law firm he interned at.

 _‘The most dedicated intern we have ever employed,’_ the letter of recommendation from the crappy law firm spoke. _‘Genuine and respectable young man who is enthusiastic about the world of law and all that it has to offer.’_

Kensington’s hires him immediately and offered to pay half of his law school tuition.

It was a better deal with better pay, and he and Greta were able to afford a small house. It was prefect timing, seeing as Greta fell pregnant again. Richie was ecstatic, his picturesque life was falling together. Two kids, a nice house, educating himself to prepare for a steady job and a beautiful wife.

He completed law school with a degree and credits in things he never knew existed. Slowly but surely moving up the law firm food chain, Richie was handed more and more important cases. He never lost one.

Ten years passed of almost the exact same thing. They saved enough money to buy a big house and go on yearly vacations across the world. They enrolled Bowie in dance classes and encouraged Owen’s talent for reading and writing. It was too perfect, it was routine, it was boring.

Richie doesn’t do anything about it until he can’t stand the awkwardness shrouding him and Greta like a cloud of darkness. He wants his wife back. He wants his _happiness_ back.

Bowie’s freshly sixteen when Richie’s handed a relatively small, average case to work on at the firm. There’s no due date he’s told but a partner and a couple of people from the police station will work with him. A week later, Dan convinces him to try out a new club in town.

It’s perfect for Richie.

He sees Eddie dancing on stage, a whirlwind of pale skin and gold glitter. The boy is provocative yet conservative in the way he moves, seducing the crowd like he’s been doing it all his life but with an air of classy sophistication. It was a strange contrast that drew Richie in.

Richie goes to the bar and hails down the waitress.

She smiles at him. “What’ll it be, love?”

“The pretty brunette boy.” He points, so she knows. “Is he working? Could I maybe, um, request him.”

She looks shocked for a second and Richie realizes she meant what did he want to drink, but she composes herself quickly. Winking at him, she says: “I’ll see what I can do for you.”

Ten minutes later, he’s sat in a room, waiting on the short brunette. The first time was just a fuck with a pretty boy. The second time, it was pure coincidence that Eddie was even there and available. After that, Richie started requesting him.

At home, Richie was making up excuses. ‘Staying late at the office’ turned into ‘going to the bar with a few friends’ which turned into ‘I’m leaving, be back later.’ He feels bad lying to his wife. He’s cheating; he’s having an affair. He’s a monster.

If Greta ever found out, she’d probably smile and hug him and apologize for not being there to help him sort his shit out. She was too good for him. At this point, they’re more like best friends than spouses.

Richie wants to provide the world for Greta and thank her for always being there, but now Eddie is his world. If he and Eddie could elope they would. Richie knows it isn’t some silly crush. They’re adults, they’ve had multiple talks about it. They’re in love.

Richie doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

The case he’s working on is full of dead ends and barriers preventing access to anything useful. He needs to talk to people, find leads, contact his old connections. He needs to snoop, he needs to go out into the field and analyze everything.

He needs to do what he’s been doing for fifteen years.

Richie sighs, his mind flitting back to Eddie, like it always does. He needs Eddie.


	11. Yo!

I just published a new Reddie fic! It’s called “Baby Hungry” and it’s about Richie and Eddie being married for a while and all that Eddie wants is a baby, but Richie doesn’t want kids. So it deals with all that. It includes drama, angst and humor. So if your interested in that check it out!

Also has Mike x Stan cause that’s a cute ship and I don’t see enough about them.


	12. Eleven

_**Eleven** _

Richie gets sick of work early and decides to pick up the kids from school. There’s only two years between them, so he only has to go to the one school to pick them up. He sends a text to Bowie, letting her know that she has to find Owen and that they’re not taking the bus today.

Richie’s Mercedes Benz is the nicest car out of all the parents on pick-up duty, and it almost attracts too much attention. Owen opens the shotgun door, excited that he got there before Bowie, but stops when he sees Richie’s briefcase and work papers littering the leather seat.

”Sorry, Owen buddy, take the back.”

He shuts the door with a joking pout and joins Bowie in the backseat after throwing his school bag in the boot.

It’s a half hour drive back home, and Richie takes the time to interrogate his kids.

”You guys know how hard I work to provide a roof over your heads, right? And sometimes I may not be around much, because I’m working so hard.” _Working so hard_ translates to _hitting up gay clubs to have sex with Eddie._ “But just because I’m not around as much anymore doesn’t mean I love you any less. I love you both very much, and you mean the world to me.”

Owen rolls his eyes and pulls out his phone assumedly playing a game, but Bowie smiles at him through the rear view mirror. “That’s really deep, dad. We don’t care you’re not around as much, we still love you.” She then prods Owen in the arm to get him to agree.

“You know, this case I’m working on is a big one. Lots of money. I’m running out of things to spend this money on, any offers?”

“A family trip to Hawaii!” Bowie says, the same time Owen shouts something about a $300 bulk bundle of PlayStation and Xbox games on amazon.

Richie laughs. “Done and done.”

They both return back to their phones, seemingly content. Richie frowns. He thought offering to buy them things would help them open up. He wants them to talk, to tell him about their days, to tell them school gossip like they used to.

“There’s a um, a break in the case at the moment.” Richie says. “And I’m off for a little while. Do you need me to take you places? Go to parties? Hang out with friends like normal teenagers?”

Bowie lightens up at the offer. “Actually, there’s a party tonight at Levi’s house.”

“Ooooh, Levi.” Owen laughs. Richie joins in, making kissy faces at Bowie and singing ‘ _Levi and Bowie sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G’_ with Owen.

“Levi’s got a boyfriend.” Bowie retorts, pushing Owen’s face towards the window. It’s a soft enough push that he doesn’t hit the glass thankfully, and he just pushes her back.

Richie holds his breath and tenses. Owen shrugs, though, not noticing his dad. “So what? _Levi and his boyfriend sitting a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G_.”

“Exactly.” Bowie says smugly, nodding. She’s so open about everything and has always been very outspoken about feminist values, so Richie knew she wouldn’t care that he and Eddie were a thing. She would care that he’s cheating on her mother, but not about Eddie.

However, he was worried about Owen. No matter how well you raise them, 14 year old boys can be cruel. He is so proud of his kids in that moment and almost pulls the car over so he can hug them. Almost.

He’s raised his kids so well. Bowie is a smart and beautiful young girl who works hard at dancing and still manages a social life and taking the time to go to pride rallies and speak out at every opportunity against racism. Owen is a little more secluded, but he’s still smart and handsome and he may spend all of his time playing games and reading, but he’s still educated. It could be because he’s listened to too many of Bowie’s speeches, but Richie’s seen him call his friends out when they say problematic things.

Richie knows he’s glorifying the fact that his children doesn’t think guys liking other guys isn’t disgusting, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Yeah, I’ll drop you off at Levi’s party.” Richie shrugs nonchalantly. “Text mom, make sure she knows what’s going on.”

Bowie bites her lip. “That’s the thing. Mum said I couldn’t go.”

”Why not?”

”I have a chemistry test next week.” She admits. “But I’m only gonna go for a few hours and if I’m hungover tomorrow that’s my own fault. I’ll have all weekend to study and I’m top of the class besides!”

“I don’t see a problem with you going.” Richie says. He can see where Greta’s coming from but Bowie’s right, she’s top of her class in chemistry and it won’t be hard for her to pass the test. He also kind of wants to stay the cool dad who lets his kids go to parties, but he tries not to think about it. “If you fail the test though, you’re not allowed to go to another party until summer.”

“Deal.” Bowie beams.

He’s not thrilled at the idea of his sixteen year old daughter going to parties with boys and getting drunk, but he’s not stupid. He knows she’ll just sneak out anyway and he’d rather know about it than not knowing.

During last summer, Bowie was invited to a lot of parties and even threw a few, so they have a compromise between them. Bowie can go to parties whenever she wants and do whatever she wants at these parties, but Richie drops her off and she texts him when she wants to be picked up. She’s also not allowed to get hammered. Richie doesn’t mind a little tipsy but getting absolutely wasted kills brain cells and stunts growth and he doesn’t want that for Bowie, no matter how cool he wants to be.

”What about me, can I go to parties?” Owen asks.

“Can you name ten Smiths songs?”

”No.” Owen sulks.

”Then no.”

”Bowie can’t name ten Smiths songs!”

”That’s true.” He says, looking in the side mirror at his daughter. “Guess you can’t go to Levi’s party anymore, Bowie.”

“I can name ten Def Leppard songs though.” She says, poking her tongue out at Owen.

They haven’t listened to Def Leppard in years; the only reason Bowie knows any songs is because he used to sing them to her every night. She got to the age where she just googled the lyrics, and she went through a very deep Def Leppard phase.

“Fine, guess you can go. Seems like you’re stuck with me Owen.”

”Can we watch the new Marvel movie, tonight dad?”

“Have you illegally downloaded it yet?”

“Of course I have.” Owen scoffs and Richie laughs.

“Then sure. Don’t tell your mother that I know about the illegal downloads though.”

“Or the porn magazines under your bed.” Bowie mentions.

Owen turns a bright shade of red and he averts his eyes from behind his glasses. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do.” Richie says. He’s ecstatic that he’s got the relationship he has with his kids. Growing up, him and his parents always got into arguments because they were too old and didn’t understand him, so he made sure to be the cool young dad for kids. They may not like it sometimes and get embarrassed, but he loves them and he supports them so they couldn’t ask for better.

Owen splutters at his words and tries to come up with something to redeem himself, but he comes up dry, making Bowie and Richie laugh.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell if you won’t.” Richie smiles as they stop at a red light. He turns around to grin at Owen and high-five him before he turns back around.

He’s such a cool dad.

“And you won’t tell mom I’m at the party? You’ll tell her I’m at Maddy’s or something?”

Richie shrugs, it’s fine by him. It’s probably a bad thing, really, that he’s comfortable lying to his wife, but it’s such a small white lie that it shouldn’t hurt anyone. “Fine by me. Do you want dinner before you leave?”

”Uh, n-no thanks. I’m not hungry.”

“You’re never hungry.” Owen says, jabbing at buttons on his phone. He occasionally mutters things like ‘die, fucker, die!’ so Richie knows he’s not aggressively texting anyone.

“You never shut up.” Bowie bites back, flicking him on the ear.

”Both of you shut up, I’m trying to drive.”

They listen to him, thankfully, but he can see them sticking their tongues out at each other in the rear view mirror.

He chuckles to himself. He loves his kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before someone comes at me for the feminisms thing, but I meant intersectional feminism which is the act of supporting and wanting equality for EVERYONE which includes cishet men and women, poc, lgbtqia+, so basically Richie knows Bowie is supportive of everyone no matter what, but he was still worried about it because they’re only teenagers. Hope that makes sense and also sorry for the short chapter!


	13. Twelve

_**Twelve** _

”I talked to my boss.” Eddie whispers, snuggled into Richie’s side. “I resigned. I’m finished within the next two months. Mr. Smith said that I need to come in on the tenth of October to finalize things, but I’m done.”

Richie’s world stops. Done? Done with the job or done with Richie? Where will Eddie go; what will he do?

“Done with...”

”Done with this, the dancing, the old men, the selling myself...I hate it.”

“Oh.”

Richie’s happy that Eddie is getting out of here. Richie despises the way the other men touch Eddie, touch his boy. He despises the thought of people running their hands all over him, doing things in private that leave Eddie squirming. He hates the mindset it leaves Eddie in: dirty, unclean, unwanted.

Ever since feelings developed between the two, Richie has wanted the world for Eddie. Richie has wanted to shower him with love and jewels and riches. The sooner Eddie gets out of here, the better.

The question is, is he leaving Richie behind? Will he even think of the man when he’s off doing his own thing? Will he find someone else? Will Richie be replaced? Is Richie overestimating how much Eddie cares for him?

“What are you going to do?”

Eddie shrugs, nuzzling his nose into the skin over Richie’s ribs. Richie thinks it’s adorable. He starts threading his fingers through Eddie’s hair and petting it, like a cat.

“I’ve got a tiny bit of money saved up. It’ll get me to New York. I’ll pick up a couple jobs here and there, find somewhere to crash and audition for a chance to work for Ballet Deviare. It’s all I want Richie.”

Richie’s heart breaks for Eddie. He needs to help Eddie, he needs to get him out of this crappy town and give him the chance to do what he loves.

Richie looks down, intending on kissing the brunette beauty, when he notices the time on his rolex watch. “It’s getting late.” He notes, starting to sit up.

”Oh? Are you leaving?”

He needs to leave. He needed to leave the second he walked in here for the first time. He should have never came. He should have never stayed.

“Pass me my phone, please?” He says instead.

Eddie hands it to him and he checks for any new messages. There’s one from Bowie, sent only five minutes ago.

“Yeah, sorry, baby. Bowie needs to be picked up from a party. I’ll come see you soon though.”

Eddie looks doubtful. Richie needs to remember that Eddie has grown accustomed to being worshipped by men and then getting thrown to the side like trash.

“I promise I’ll be back.” Richie says. “We can text? Are you comfortable with giving me your number?”

Eddie laughs. When he laughs, he scrunches his eyes closed so that the skin by the corners crinkle and his teeth are on full display. Richie loves it. “I’m comfortable with your dick inside me, Richie, I’m comfortable with giving you my number.”

Richie smiles. He puts the number in as Eddie calls it out and kisses the brunette on his forehead. He puts his jeans on one leg at a time and waves goodbye to Eddie, his shirt half undone.

• • • • • • •

“You got here quickly.” Bowie notes after she’s hugged all her friends goodbye. She doesn’t reek of alcohol and she didn’t stay out all night before asking to be picked up. Richie’s proud, honestly.

“Yeah, I was um, in the neighborhood.” Truthfully, Levi lived near the club where Eddie worked.

Bowie nods and is quiet for a minute. Richie doesn’t think anything of it; she’s had a big night.

”Dad?” She asks, hesitantly.

“Mm?”

”Are you...Do you and mom still love each other?”

It was so far from what Richie was expecting that it throws him off guard for a minute. He thinks about it. He knows off the bat that they’re not in love, but do they love each other? Of course. She’s been there for him through so much, there’s no way he could possibly hate her. He loves her. He cares deeply for Greta, but he’s not in love with her.

“Of course we do.”

”Are you in love?”

Richie sighs. “Listen Bowie, sometimes adults fall out of love. It doesn’t matter how intensely you were in love or for how long, sometimes two people change. It’s like when you have two puzzle pieces right? You break the ends off both and they don’t fit together anymore. We’re not who we used to be. Do I love her? Yes. Do I love you and Owen? Yes. Nothing’s going to change. For now, just don’t worry about it.

“Okay.” She says. She doesn’t sound happy with his answer, but she doesn’t argue further.

“What brought this on?”

“I’m not eight, dad. I know you don’t sleep in the same room. You two hardly ever talk. You two used to go out for dinner all the time, but you haven’t in months. You disappear every other night without a word. I can tell you’re having problems. I hope you can fix them.”

• • • • • • •

“Greta, I think we should go out tonight. Just the two of us.”

Bowie’s words from the night before are running through his head. He misses simply talking to his wife. He misses being her best friend. He wants to spend time with her where they aren’t silent or pretending to be the perfect family.

”Tonight?” Greta asks. “The kids will be left alone, though.”

Richie shrugs. “They’re old enough to look after themselves. There’s this nice Japanese restaurant in town that Dan recommend. Want to try it out?”

”I might have to work late tonight.” Greta days. “I’m busy at work. Or what if someone important calls and we’re not here? What if something happens and we can’t come back for the kids?”

It was at that moment, in the longest conversation they’ve had in a week, when Richie realized Greta was fishing for excuses too.

He folds his blazer over his arm and walks out the door, kissing Bowie and Owen on the top of the head. It’s a Saturday, so he doesn’t need to be at work, but he has nothing else to do and he needs to clear his head.

He’s sitting in his office when he gets the message.

_**Baby Boy:  
** _ _hey daddy_

Richie was halfway through typing a response when a new text came through.

_**Baby Boy:  
** _ _You wanna play?_


	14. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning and a discussion of kinks ^•^

_**Thirteen** _

”Fuck, Eddie.” Richie moans as he thrusts into Eddie, the brunette looking fucked out and desperate. His lips are swollen and he’s cum twice already, but Richie wants him to cum a third time, just because.

His thrusts get harder and more forceful as he drills into Eddie, the brunette gripping onto his shoulders to steady himself. He nips at Richie’s collarbone slowly, sucking on the skin and turning it bright red as the blood vessels pop.

“Leaving marks, baby?” Richie smirks, rolling his hips slowly into the whimpering boy beneath him. He thrusts especially hard, just once, making Eddie keen. Richie leans down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s neck, just below his ear. “Am I making you feel good? Do you like it when I fuck you like this?”

“Yes, Richie!” Eddie whines. “Fuck, so full.”

Richie smirks, but deep down he thinks about how many guys Eddie tells that to and he feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want anyone else to touch his baby. Clearing his head, Richie nuzzles his head into Eddie’s neck so all he can smell, see and feel is Eddie. Eddie’s Vera Wang perfume, Eddie’s smooth tan skin and Eddie’s tight hole clenching around him.

Eddie bucks his hips up to meet Richie’s thrusts and they both moan in sync as they touch, connected in every way possible. Richie cums deep in Eddie with a grunt and his mouth on Eddie’s. He pulls out slowly so he doesn’t startle a slumped Eddie. Richie takes off the rubber before tying it, walking over to the bin and chucking it in unceremoniously.

He picks up his phone from inside his jean pocket and drops the jeans back to the floor before he looks over to Eddie. Looking close to sleep, Eddie is in the exact same position Richie left him in. Richie sits beside him and rubs his sweaty, gross stomach. He checks the phone for any new messages, seeing one from Bowie about picking her up from the studio at six. It’s only four pm so he’s got plenty of time. “Want me to suck your dick?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

”Are you sure? You never got that third orga-“

”Seriously, I was good by the end of the first round.” Eddie laughs tiredly.

Richie frowns at that and pauses in his tummy-rubbing movements. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

”It’s not my job to tell you to stop, Richie.”

And now Richie’s pissed. He’s pissed at Eddie for not telling him to stop. He’s pissed at himself for not asking Eddie if he wanted to stop. Pissed at whoever made Eddie get into prostitution in the first place. Pissed at everyone who fucked Eddie passed the time he wanted to stop but he didn’t have the power to say no.

“Fuck Eddie, I’m not your job, all right? I’m not going to murder you because you don’t want to keep going.” Richie assures, throwing his phone to the ground and holding Eddie’s face in his hands.

Eddie’s hazel eyes are wide and looking directly into Richie’s. Richie can see the innocence and purity that was destroyed so long ago shining anew.

“I want you to tell me if you don’t want to do something. Whatever this is, whatever we have, we’re on the same level, okay? I can’t tell you what to do. If you don’t want to kiss me, tell me. If you don’t like something, tell me, please. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tears brim in Eddie’s eyes and Richie watches as one teardrop raced down his cheek, stopped by Richie’s finger. This isn’t the first time he’s seen tears in those pretty eyes(though usually it’s from pleasure)and it kills him inside every time. Eddie sits up and brings his knees to his chest and starts sobbing. Richie has never seen such a pretty sober.

When Greta cries, it’s full-on or not at all. Full on means running mascara, heaving breaths, the lot. He’s glad it doesn’t happen often. With Bowie, it’s all incoherent mumbling, hiccups and lots of ice-cream. Eddie is a delicate crier, a few loose tears and soft hiccups. Richie wants to hold him in his arms and cuddle him forever.

“What did I say?” Richie worries, lifting Eddie into his lap and rubbing his back in big circles. “What’s wrong?”

”You’re t-the first p-person to care about me s-so much.”

“Oh, baby.” Richie frowns, peppering kisses all over Eddie until he lets out a tired chuckle. “I care about you so much; more than I should.”

“You shouldn’t care about me at all, I’m just a fuck, right? Just a cheap, tight, fuck?”

”No, no, no, no.” Richie coos. “What you are is my baby, and we’re going to discuss what you like and what you don’t so I never overstep my boundaries. Don’t be afraid to say no, okay baby?”

“Okay.”

”Um...hair pulling? Yes or no?”

Richie feels Eddie shakes his head against his chest before he hears Eddie utter the word. “No.”

“Choking? Over stimulation? Ass licking?”

”No; I don’t mind it, it’s called rimming and I fucking love it.”

”Oh, like when I ate you out?” Richie smirks, pressing an affectionate kiss to the top of Eddie’s head. “Give me a second.” While still holding onto Eddie, he leans down and picks up his phone so he can google a list of kinks.

Eddie stays quiet in his arms, obviously relishing in the feeling of being held; being in the arms of someone who loves him. His eyes are closed, his cheeks flushed red and caked with dry tears and his chin is tucked into his chest but he looks absolutely gorgeous.

”Okay, um, feminization? What’s that?” Richie asks, reading off of his phone.

“It’s exactly what it sounds like.” Eddie says. “A guy wearing a skirt and being all pretty and stuff.”

“I like that one, you’d be my pretty princess.”

”Your baby girl.” Eddie agrees.

Eddie’s words make Richie think for a moment. Think about greasy old men with their fingers all over Eddie, all over his baby girl. Eddie is precious, he’s an irreplaceable jewel and Richie doesn’t want to share.

”Promise you’ll tell me if I ever go too far or do things you don’t want to do? Promise you won’t let anyone else touch you the way I do?”

Eddie is quiet for a second and Richie worries he won’t reply, but he mumbles a “I’ll try, Richie,” and Richie feels feels his heart contract.


	15. Fourteen

_**Fourteen** _

The next night, Richie’s eyes glance over the bartenders but he can’t see Eddie among them. He turns his gaze towards the dancers onstage, thinking that maybe that’s where Eddie’s hiding but no, Eddie’s nights are Thursdays through to Sunday. It’s Tuesday, where could he be?

“Excuse me.” Richie waves down one of the bartenders, giving her his most charming smile. The same smile that got him Greta, and then later, Eddie. The bartender falls for it predictably, and giggles. Richie rolls his eyes as she hides a strand of straight blond hair behind her heavily pierced ear. Maybe he picked up the eye-rolling habit from his kids, or more likely, Eddie. “Where’s Eddie?”

“He’s a little um...busy.” The girl giggles again sending him a look that tells him exactly what she means by _busy._ There’s no way this girl has been working here long; her subtlety is worse than her boob job. Not that there’s anything wrong with her boob job, or that he was even looking there just—she’s not very subtle. And he wants Eddie.

“Tell him Mr. Tozier is here to see him.” Richie sets his jaw, his charming demeanor failing. He’s trying to sound more important than he is. It doesn’t work.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Tozier, I can’t. He’s a little....preoccupied.”

“Yeah, I know what he’s doing, Tiffany.” Richie doesn’t even know if her name’s actually Tiffany and he’s too pissed at her to take a look at her name tag. She looks like a Tiffany. No offense to Tiffany, he’s just pissed. Tiffany is a lovely name, just not when she’s standing between him and his boy. “I need to see him.”

“You’re going to have to wait until he’s finished, sir.”

Richie waits. He endures the pain of knowing that Eddie is off with someone else, someone who is most definitely not him. He’s sitting at a booth, waiting for Eddie with four shot glasses lined up on the table in front of him. Two of them are empty.

”I heard that you want to see me.” Eddie says, straightening his tie and straddling Richie. Richie’s hands instinctively move to grasp Eddie’s hips, landing in the same place they always do.

It’s almost as if Eddie’s hips were shaped to be held by Richie’s hands.

It’s almost as if Eddie’s entire body was made with Richie in mind, like God knew how Richie’s hand was supposed to fit with Eddie’s. Like God knew how Richie’s hips were supposed to line up with Eddie’s own.

It’s almost as if Eddie was made to be Richie’s.

And yet, Richie’s still pissed that Eddie slept with somebody that wasn’t him. He stops Eddie’s incoming neck kisses with a hand. 

“Look, we need to talk.”

Eddie shifts uncomfortably on Richie’s lap. “What is there to talk about?”

”What were you doing ten minutes ago?”

”Um, my job?”

Richie rolls his eyes. “I thought you said that I’d be the only one fucking you from now on.”

Eddie pulls away from Richie, leans his back against the solidarity of the table, his thighs bracketing Richie’s. “I said I’d try, Richie. Like I said, this is my job, this is what I’m paid to do. I need the money, Richie. And if this is how I get it, then so be it.”

Richie’s on the brink of exploding, he knows it. He can feel it. He doesn’t want to lash out at Eddie. Doesn’t want to hurt the brunette, no matter how angry he may be. “You don’t need to do this Eddie—“

“No, you don’t get it, Richie. I do. The only way I’m ever going to become a professional dancer is if I go to New York, and I need the money for that Richie.”

Eddie stares into Richie’s eyes, trying to convey what he’s attempting to say without words. Richie gets it, he understands. He always did.

“But why now? Why do I never see you sleep with anyone else?”

“I do.” Eddie coos, wiping Richie’s eyes before he even realized he was crying a little. “I have. You never see. You always come at the perfect time, usually when I’m at the bar or on stage.”

Richie sniffles and throws his head back against the soft padding of the booth. With his hands he pulls Eddie closer and wraps his arms around Eddie’s small frame.

”I’ll do it.” Richie says. “I’ll pay for your plane ticket to New York, accommodation, everything.”

Eddie laughs slightly, letting his arms slip around Richie’s back as he buries his head in the man’s chest. “With what money?”

“I have the money, that’s not a problem.”

“And you think your wife won’t notice?”

Richie sits in silence for a second, stroking Eddie’s back slowly and absentmindedly. He feels smug satisfaction at the way Eddie purrs at the movements.

”I’ll divorce her.”

“You’re implying that she’d get the kids in this situation, correct? I’ve seen the way you interact with them, both of them. You couldn’t be without them. No matter what you do, Richie, you don’t really win.”

“Do I have you?”

”What do you mean?” Eddie asks, lifting a hand to move Richie’s dark curls out of his eyes.

”As long as I have you, then I’ve definitely won. And Greta wouldn’t take the kids from me, we’d probably do share custody.”

Eddie laughs yet again and Richie’s contemplating making it his ringtone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter :(  
> It’s short but it’s important
> 
> Fun fact: this chapter was written before I even started this story.


	16. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw//rape mention stay safe and please don’t read if this will effected you.  
> Doesn’t happen to any main characters it’s just part of Richie’s lawyer case.

_**Fifteen** _

Nobody ever talks about falling out of love. They talk about break ups, about crying in your room with Sam Smith playing and a tub of ice cream. But no one says a thing about the gradual ache in your heart of letting someone go.

They don’t talk about wanting to sit on the floor and thinking about every moment you’ve had with the person. They don’t talk about scrolling through your messages; the bland ‘I’m going to be home a little’ or ‘pick up some milk’ making your heart ache. They don’t talk about wanting to rip every photo of you two to pieces. They don’t talk about the burden on your shoulders of knowing that you’re not as in love with the person as you used to be.

Richie’s aware of the fact that it was time to break things off with Greta, but how do you break up with someone who you’ve been in love with for twenty years? Maybe he’s too weak to do it, or maybe he’s selfish and doesn’t want Greta to find anyone else even though he has Eddie. He doesn’t want anyone to know what his wife liked with her eggs(basil and parmesan) or what side of the bed she preferred(the left).

He is definitely selfish, he decides. He’s also a piece of shit if he’d rather have Greta in a relationship where neither parties love each other than to find another love.

There’s no such thing as falling back in love, Richie thinks. It’s just rekindling an old fire that you thought was dead but the hidden embers were just that; hidden. Eddie and Richie’s fire is shinning bright, tall and everlasting, while Greta and Richie’s fire was long dead.

Richie knows that you shouldn’t fuel a burnt out fire, so he’s definitely going to break up with Greta. He’s going to get the divorce papers sorted so he and Eddie can run off into the sunset together. He’s going to talk to a lawyer and the insurance company. He just doesn’t know when he’s going to have the courage to do it.

• • • • • • 

He’s tired. He’s in bed, the clock reading three a.m. but he can’t sleep. He can hear crashes and curses coming from Owen’s room and music flowing through the walls from Bowie’s room but he’s too tired to care.

He should care, he knows. They both should’ve been asleep at least three hours ago but they’re old enough to accept responsibility for themselves. He’ll growl a little in the morning and they’ll go to sleep early but they’ll stay up late the next night like a cycle.

Richie doesn’t even know where Greta’s sleeping. She could be in one of the guest rooms or downstairs on the sofa. He went to bed before she did, needing some peace and quiet.

He wishes he was still young. He wishes he could go out with his friends and get drunk, forget about whatever he needs to forget. He considers going downstairs and pouring a bourbon and coke but he’s too lazy to move. That and he doesn’t want Greta to catch him and give him one of those disappointed looks she’s so good at.

Rolling over, Richie faces the white wall, knowing that’s where Greta should be. He closes his eyes and sees Eddie lying there instead.

• • • • • •

”Anything new on the Smith case, Richie?”

Richie slumps back in his chair, throwing a ball of rolled up blu-tack into the air and catching it. He exhales, stressed and pissed off that he hasn’t gotten any further in the last few months. It’s not a big case, so he doesn’t have the pressure of getting it done in only a few days, but it’s still a case he needs to work hard on. Richie hasn’t had a big case in so long. He’s has no idea what it’s like to not get any sleep, too busy interrogating and researching and whatever else he has to do to crack the code.

He’s got people from the police station working with him, finding and exploiting any clues they can. He’s got Dan breathing down his neck and his own want and desire to finish this case to the best of his ability.

“Not yet, sir. I’ve checked everything. Receipts, contracts. I’ve called clients, employees, insurance companies. Everything. He’s covered his tracks better than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

Richie’s boss, John Rocher, smiles. “Uncover them, then.”

He’s not a pudgy man, Richie notes. Not obese, but no lanky either. (Richie had definitely not laughed when Bowie informed him on their trip to France that Rocher was french for ‘boulder’ which fit the man quite well.) His mustache is the same rusty ginger color as his receding hair and hangs below his chin, like some Disney villain.

John leaves Richie alone, making his shoulders tense slightly. He hates being alone, bad things happen when you’re by yourself. But he’s an adult, he’s a lawyer, a successful one at that. He’s a successful lawyer adult, and he can handle being alone for a few hours. Once he gets stuck into his work, he doesn’t notice the loneliness, doesn’t notice the lack of voices crawling into his eardrums.

He just needs to focus.

 _The Smith case,_ he reminds himself. _The notes you’ve written down. The cork board on the wall of your office with photos of suspects and sticky notes on it so you can visually see what you’re doing._

Employees going weeks without being paid and getting treated unfairly.

Multiple accounts of clients raping employees. Anna-Louise Frinchley on the 3rd of March, Jackie George on the 5th of May, Liam Thomas on the 6th of June.

The murder of Kelsey Smith, in her bedroom at 2:17 am, neighbors heard her screaming for help.

_Eddie._

Richie shook his head, urging himself to focus.

Kelsey Smith found dead at 7:29 that morning, the 8th of August. Mr Keith Smith no where to be found; no personal belongings found anywhere in the house. Witnesses saw him exiting early that morning, approximately two hours before police found Kelsey.

_Eddie._

Richie slams his hand down on the desk. _Focus, Tozier._ He has all the dots, now he needs to connect them.

The clients who had raped employees had to have been hired or tipped off, because the pattern is too perfect for it to be coincidental.

Anna-Louise raped on the 3rd day of the 3rd month, Jackie on the 5th of the 5th month, Liam on the 6th of the 6th month. Kelsey murdered on the 8th of the 8th month.

Today’s the 7th of September. If he’s following the pattern correctly then this month’s victim will be hurt in one way or another soon. September’s victim, along with the months of unaccounted victims need to be found. He should call Ruby, his secretary, to see if she can dig up some police files for me. Maybe someone had reported something. Maybe he can solve this.

_Eddie._

Richie’s too distracted. He logs off his computer, turning off the monitor and scribbling on a highlighter-yellow sticky note about calling Ruby. He shuffles his papers into a neat pile and grabs his leather jacket before sneaking out the office.

Seeing Eddie will soothe the lonely monster in his closet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters tbh  
> Richie is still a lawyer even if he’s acting a bit like a deceptive, I just wanted him to connect the dots and crack the case. Also I decide to set the story in September.


	17. Sixteen

_ **Sixteen** _

It’s weird, Richie knows, and a waste of money.

Ever since Eddie had said that he was open to the idea of feminization, Richie hadn’t been able to get the image of Eddie in panties or lingerie out of his head. A sheer blue one piece with garters and thigh highs, the color complimenting his tan skin.

Or maybe a soft pink with little bows adorning the fabric, the color of Eddie’s lips and his blush.

Richie spent all afternoon in Victoria’s Secret, Peaches n’ Cream, Wild Secret and any lingerie boutique he came across trying to find the perfect items for Eddie. The things were more expensive than he had remembered buying for Greta, but then again he hadn’t bought sexy lingerie for Greta in years.

It’s late at night when Richie pulls up at the club, paying the uber driver. He sends a quick text to Bowie, stating that he was staying late at work wrapping up a case. Bowie replies with a series of emojis that are meaningless to Richie, but he sees a few hearts and guesses she doesn’t care. He couldn’t bare to send the text to Greta, he’s too pathetic.

He knew, going into this with Eddie, that his marriage with Greta was dead. God, he wishes it wasn’t true. He wishes he and Greta were the same people they were, fresh out of high school, so deeply in love.

He wishes he and Eddie met under different circumstances. He wishes he wasn’t married, he wishes Eddie wasn’t a stripper, he wishes he could get Eddie out of this town. He’s about to give a nod to the bouncer and step inside when he gets an idea.

It’s stupid and unhealthy. And he’s wasting even more money than he had just spent.

It’s not like the loss will make the Tozier family go bankrupt or anything, in fact each case Richie completed and won earned him a handsome pay. It’s the only reason they’d been able to fund Owen’s extensive nerdy obsessions, Bowie’s expensive dance school and their mutual elite private school. But the few thousands of dollars is still noticeable, and he’s going to have to think of some excuse.

The club is located on some street downtown, similar clubs on either side and running down the road. There was a difference though; while the other clubs were for partying and getting drunk, the one Eddie worked at and Richie frequented was targeted at middle aged men who were cheating on their wives. Like Richie, except they’ve got an extra twenty years on them and a bigger beer bully.

It’s only a block or two away from the Main Street, so Richie buttons his coat to the throat and readies himself to face the chilly night air.

His ideas always land him in shady clubs or with a pretty boy on his lap. He’s hoping this idea is as good as the latter.

• • • • • • •

Eddie is away with another customer when Richie walks in and he grits his teeth, finding a table in the center of the room so Eddie will see him when he gets back. He places the bags under the table beside his feet and waits.

He doesn’t get a drink. Instead, he sits there, staring at the grain of the table and twiddling his thumbs. He’s watching the dancers out of his peripheral vision, not out of interest, but to compare them to Eddie. He’s making little notes in his head like ‘Eddie would be able to get his leg higher than that’ and ‘If that were Eddie grinding on a audience member naked except for a cheesy golden thong, the audience member would have creamed his pants at least three times by now.’

Richie has to remind himself that he came here for a reason, both this time and the first time he ever came here, and it was not to criticize people who probably know what they’re doing.

“Boo.” A voice says behind him. As a lawyer, he has a natural poker face and doesn’t even flinch.

“Hey, you.” Richie reaches behind him to loop Eddie in. He spreads his legs wide so Eddie can squeeze his body in and stand between them.

“What are you doing here?” Eddie asks, looking down at Richie with his hands on the man’s shoulders. It’s such an insane question. It’s almost as if they’re just two people just meeting. It’s almost as if Eddie doesn’t know exactly why Richie’s here, or exactly what he wants.

“To see you.” Richie says, pulling Eddie closer. He thinks about asking Eddie to sit on his lap so he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at the standing boy, but no. He likes the soft doe eyes looking down at him. He likes the way his legs bracket the boy, like he’s protecting him from the rest of the world. “I missed you.”

“You missed sex.” Eddie whispers. He grabs a hold of Richie’s tie and pulls up, so that they’re both standing. Without wasting a second, Richie attaches his lips to Eddie’s.

It’s soft, not sultry. Richie doesn’t want to attract a crowd in the middle of the club, but because it’s Eddie, it starts getting sloppy and quick.

“Calm down, baby girl, we’ve got all night.” The nickname makes Eddie’s breath hitch. Richie smiles and grabs the bags hidden under the table. “Got somewhere a little private that we can try these out?”

Eddie nods excitingly at the logos on the bags. His entire face lights up when he smiles. It’s the tiny things that show off his youth the most. He grabs for Richie’s hand and leads him through the club like a child leading a parent around an Easter egg hunt. Richie doesn’t regret the hundreds he spent on Eddie. He would do it twice over if this is the reaction he’d get.

The room is dark when they reach it, and Richie has to restrain himself from taking Eddie right there.

“You wanna try these on for daddy?” Richie asks. Eddie takes the offered bags but pauses, biting his lip.

“Why?” He asks quietly.

”Why what?”

”Why me? Why did you do this? Buy all this for me?”

Richie grabs Eddie’s face in his hands and kisses all over the skin. “Because you’re a beautiful princess and deserve to look like one.”

Eddie snorts quietly, kissing Richie back. “Thank you. Now go sit down over there and watch me look good. Don’t watch while I’m getting changed.”

“But that’s the best part.” Richie whines, but does as he told, sitting on the booth-like bed. He gets his phone out to distract himself from watching the tan skinned beauty getting undressed.

“Okay, look.”

Really, Richie should’ve foreseen how gorgeous Eddie would look in ruby red. It’s bright. It’s bold. It’s royal, it’s passionate, it’s compassion, it’s love, it’s anger. It’s beauty. It’s everything the color red symbolizes and more.

The red looks stunning on Eddie’s tan skin, the lace panties sitting high on Eddie’s waist. There’s a pair of transparent tights under the panties with delicate flower designs in cherry red and a matching bralette. It’s not there to support anything, it just looks beautiful.

“Wow, baby girl.” Richie says, discarding his phone to the side. “Turn around for me?”

Eddie does as told, doing a slow spin. As Richie guessed, Eddie pulled the panties too high up on his waist and now half of his ass is showing beneath the tights. Richie’s never been so enamored.

Eddie saunters over and straddles Richie. “Am I pretty, dad?”

Richie can’t help himself. He kisses Eddie, rough and dirty and passionate to match the red lingerie that he wants to mess up so badly. The tights and bralette are see through, all though the panties are a solid red. Richie can’t wait to ruin them.

In between kisses, Richie manages to growl out: “So—fucking—pretty—baby.”

Eddie keens. At the praise, at Richie’s kisses, at the feel of the lace on his hips. He can’t control himself. He starts bouncing on Richie’s lap, needing some friction on his crotch. It’s hot. It’s messy. It’s _Eddie._

A sudden tear alerts Richie to the fact that Eddie ripped his new tights.

“Did you rip them, baby?”

”Yeah daddy, sorry.” Eddie pants. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rip them.”

Richie smiles, his hands on Eddie’s hips still the younger boy bounces. “It’s okay. I bought you some more. And a little something more.”

Eddie cocks his head. “Something else? Richie you didn’t have to. Honestly. You’ve already done so much for me, more than I could ever imagine. You encouraged me to become my own person and believe I was capable of love. You bought me an entire closet of lingerie. You never have to do anything for me ever again.”

“All right. Guess I should sell those tickets to New York then.”

Eddie almost squeals. “What!”

“I’ve got a business meeting in New York next Friday. I extended the trip so I can stay there until Tuesday, and I bought you a ticket.” He leaves a trail of kisses down the side of Eddie’s neck. “I know how badly you wanna go, Eddie. I figured you should be able to go there, even just for a few days, so you can see how the city works. Maybe even pop into Ballet Deviare and get your name out there somehow. I booked a hotel, airfares, everything.”

“I love you.” Eddie whispers. “You are the only person in my life who has ever given a fuck about me. You genuinely care about my happiness and that means more to me than you could ever know. You have no idea how much this means to me, Richie.”

“I love you more baby girl.”


	18. Seventeen

_**Sixteen** _

Making up an excuse for his family was easy. “I’m going on a business trip to New York for the weekend, be back Tuesday!”

He knows Greta didn’t believe it, but she didn’t say anything so neither did he. Owen asked him to bring back a limited edition Harry Potter figurine set. If he met a drag queen in New York, Bowie gave him strict instructions to take a cute selfie, get a signature and a video message. He agreed to both easily.

The first thing on his agenda is to go to a proper dance show with Eddie.

(Technically the first thing was to book into the hotel and smooth out any wrinkles or problems they may have. The dance show was a close second.)

He was lucky that a co-worker of his had two tickets to a show that weekend. She wasn’t able to make it, but Richie took the tickets gratefully.

The show itself is so magnificent, Richie is sure it was something out of a movie. It is a full scale ballet production, featuring New York’s best dancers. It’s a lot like Bowie’s showcase, but bigger and more professional. Eddie sits beside him throughout the show, a grip on his hand so tight that the circulation in Richie’s hand has long since been cut off. Eddie gasps, fascinated at the dancers doing spectacular movements with their bodies.

“That.” Eddie says afterwords, a bright grin on his face. “Is what I want to do.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Richie says. They’re walking down the busy street, towards their hotel. It is the ninth of September, nearing winter months, and the pair are bundled up in their winter coats. Richie can’t believe how adorable Eddie looks. The coat sits nicely on his shoulders and the furry hood is up, framing his flushed cheeks. Richie knows that if he wore that coat, it would be far too small for him.

He sometimes forgets just how small Eddie is. The young man walks with confidence oozing out of his pores, yet folds in on himself when he walks.

Richie takes note of the way Eddie is carrying himself on the walk to the hotel. His shoulders are back and his chin is up, different to how Richie is used to seeing him. Does he only act submissive at the club as a seducing technique? Or does he feel confident and safe with Richie to stand tall?

Eddie links his arm with Richie’s and leans his head on the man’s shoulder. Richie goes with the latter.

(They stop in a little store on a corner and get Owen’s figurines, but they can’t find any drag queens. It’s a shame.)

• • • • • • • 

When they get back to the hotel room, Eddie is so pumped with endorphins he starts dancing around after taking his coat off. Richie shoulders his own coat off, folds it and places it back in his suitcase along with the gift for Owen.

It’s a small hotel room, but fairly pricey. Only the best for his Eddie. It’s open plan, the kitchen, the lounge area, and bedroom all rolled into one, with an adjoining bathroom.

Eddie looks stunning as he spins around the room. He looks like a mother at a barbecue(Richie pictures a wine glass in his hand) rather than the pretty ballet dancer. It’s cute. Eddie starts peeling off his clothes until he’s left in his underwear and socks and continues bopping to the music in his head.

It was nice to see the different sides of Eddie. There was the seductive stripper and the young boy next door. There was a professional ballerina to be and an adorable boy who stumbled around a hotel room in his tube socks.

He crashes pretty quickly and collapses onto the bed, spread eagle. It’s been a long day of traveling and a late night show, so Richie really doesn’t blame him.

“Hey, Eddie?”

”Mm?”

”Do you want me to put your coat in your suitcase?”

“Mm.”

Richie chuckles, reaching down to pick up the heavy fluffy coat. He folds it, but it’s a big and bulky jacket so it doesn’t look very neat.

“Thank you.”

”It’s like looking after a baby.” Richie says.

Eddie rolls over onto his back and faces Richie. Richie straightens so he’s not slouching against the dining room chair and looks at Eddie. His hair is wind-mussed and his cheeks are red from the cold; Richie imagines he looks the same.

“Am I a baby, then?”

”You’re my baby.” He grins, climbing on the bed and hovering over Eddie. The brunette looks up at him with wide hazel guys, so full of trust and love. Richie kisses him.

“You have no idea how happy you make me.” Richie says as he rolls off of Eddie and cuddles beside him. Eddie starts playing with their joint fingers. “Ever since you came into my life I have been so much happier in general. My life used to be so monotonous and boring but you make it exciting. You make me want to wake up and live another day. When Greta and I....fell out of love, I didn’t think there was a point to life. But there is. You are. You’re my point.”

“You’re my point too.” Eddie whispers. “My life is shit. I’m a stripper, my family hates me. My sister is the only one that still talks to me. I don’t have a car license, I never went to college. The only friends I have are my coworkers and yeah, I adore them, but my whole life is that club. I could die and my name could be on the news and nobody would know who I was, let alone care. You make me feel like my life is complete, like it means something. Like I’ll do something with my life.

“You’ve encouraged me to want to move here to New York, and do my dance thing. I would’ve done it eventually, but you had so much faith in me that it drives me. You make me feel pretty and loved me and I want to be a better person. And I want to be good, for you.” Richie laughs a little as Eddie blushes. “Not good for you, like kinky. Like I want you to be proud of me, and I don’t want you to regret leaving your wife for me.”

“Oh, baby.” Richie says. “I’ll never regret that. I’m too in love with you to ever regret that.”

Eddie looked into his eyes and slowly leaned forward until they were kissing. For the first time, Eddie didn’t kiss sloppy and fast. He knew it was a sentimental moment and he was taking it slow. It was the first time Eddie kissed him like he loved him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to end kinky but it didn’t sue me😔🤚🏽


	19. Eighteen

_**Eighteen** _

Eddie’s lips are chapped from the wind and his insistent biting. His hands are slowly running under Richie’s shirt, feeling the warm skin. Every time Richie pulls away to breathe, Eddie’s lips are chasing him, demanding contact.

Over the pounding of his heart and the blood rushing through his ears, Richie can hear Eddie moaning. It’s refreshing, hearing such familiarity in such a strange place. The boy’s moans are accompanied by the honking and incessant chatter of New York at night that Richie can hear from twenty floors up. 

”You’re moaning.”

“You’re talking.” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck like a vice and pulling him down. Eddie’s kisses are getting sloppier; he’s getting excited.

Richie grins into the kiss. This is his happy place. Honestly, anywhere with Eddie is. Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s torso and pulls him in, grinding up needily.

Richie bites back a groan at the friction, placing a hand on Eddie’s hip to still the younger man. He doesn’t want things to move too quickly. “Slow down, Eds. We’ve got all night.”

They kiss a moment longer before Richie rolls off, landing next to Eddie. Eddie takes the hint and moves to straddle him. Eddie looks flushed. His bright pink lips are swollen and his eyes are dark and blown wide.

It’s not until Eddie is straddling him that Richie remembers Eddie is only in his underwear(and socks, but that’s not important). He immediately recognizes the panties as a pair he had bought for Eddie, lilac and sheer and soft.

“Pretty, baby girl.” Richie whispers. Eddie’s breath hitches and he dives down to attach his lips to Richie; any part of him, jaw, neck and chest. He just needs contact.

Richie grabs Eddie’s ass and pulls it closer to him so Eddie is sitting on the older man’s stomach. While Eddie is busying himself with sucking a hickey into Richie’s pale skin, Richie quickly fumbles with his belt buckle and pants. It’s hard work while lying down and he has to lift his hips, almost causing Eddie to fall, but he manages it, leaving himself in only a shirt.

He keeps his shirt on because it’s too cold to take it off and you don’t need to be naked for sex. It’ll be gross and sweat stained but in this moment he doesn’t care. Everything is moving so fast but it feels like they’ve stopped in time. Noises from down below can still be heard and Richie can see the night sky through the window behind Eddie. But right now, all Richie can focus on is his panting and the pretty boy atop him.

He slides his hands over the ridges of Eddie’s spine and beneath the material of his panties. Each of his hands hold one of Eddie’s ass cheeks and he squeezes once, cheekily, before sliding the panties down Eddie’s tan legs.

“Do you need lube?” Richie asks theoretically. Of course Eddie needs lube, but it’s tucked away in his suitcase and he knows neither of them can be bothered to get it.

”Yes. There should be some in the top drawer beside you.”

“You come prepared.” Richie smiles, holding Eddie with one hand and reaching towards the nightstand with the other.

”Wasn’t me. When you reserve a couple’s suite, lube usually comes with the room and a condom.”

”Stop talking, more prepping.”

Richie slicks up a couple of his fingers with the lube and gently prods at Eddie’s hole with one. After a few minutes, Eddie is breathing deeper above him.

”Add another.” Eddie breathes.

Richie does as he’s told, adding more fingers until Eddie whines that he’s ready.

Richie knows Eddie is tired, so he asks the younger male to climb off him and lay down in the middle of the bed. Richie settles above him, his dick hard and lubed up with a condom, pressing against his hole. He inches inside slowly, kissing Eddie to distract him from the penetration.

No matter how often you take a dick up your ass, no matter how much prep you do, the first few seconds will always be uncomfortable.

The sex is slow and sweet and there’s so much love in the air and god Richie could get used to this. He looks down and sees Eddie: sweat plastering his hair to his forehead, lips swollen, cheeks red. He smiles. He loves the tiny brunette boy beneath him.

They lie there afterwards, cuddled up together. The lights from surrounding buildings light up their otherwise dark hotel room, and Richie finally understands the phrase ‘New York is a city that never sleeps’.

“I love you.” A soft voice says. Richie props himself up on one arm and looks at Eddie, urging him to continue. “Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you for making love to me. Thank you for everything. I love you.”

”No problem.” Richie grins, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “I’d do anything for you, angel.”

Eddie falls asleep in Richie’s arms. Tomorrow Richie has a business meeting with the executives of the firm. Rocher was supposed to go but he’s overseas so Richie stepped in to take his place. It’s uncommon for an associate to be at such an important meeting, but none of the partners could make it. Rocher thinks this will help Richie become a partner and really, Richie’s wiling to do anything. While he’s at the meeting, Eddie’s going to pop into the dance company he wants to work for and see if it’s really the place of his dreams.

Richie looks down at his boy, sleeping in his arms. Richie will keep him safe.


	20. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mentions of rape tw//(it’s only mentioned as part of Richie’s lawyer case it doesn’t happen to anyone)
> 
> This isn’t how real court cases go but I’m making it up with how I’ve seen in movies and stuff so work with me😔🤚🏽
> 
> Bold is Richie thoughts  
> And italic are the recordings

_**Nineteen** _

It’s been two weeks since New York.

Its been two weeks since he’s seen Eddie.

It’s the morning of the 25th of September, the day the last seven months have been leading up to. The day, Dan tells him, that will prove whether or not he’s worthy of being a partner for the firm. He has to prove himself. He needs to be the A-grade lawyer he spent years in law school to become. He needs to show off all of his research and connect the dot skills and present a well rounded case. He needs to win.

It’s minutes before the judge is scheduled to come in, minutes before the case starts. Richie can feel tingles in his arms and legs. His palms are sweating.

He takes a minute to breathe.

He can see Mr. Smith, sitting to his left, looking cool, calm and collected. He can see the man’s lawyer, old looking. Professional looking. Richie panics.

The anxiety settles in. He feels it in his chest first; it tightens and constricts until he struggles to breath. A cloud of fog settles over him and his mind, his thoughts are muddled. He blinks quickly, shaking his head a little to clear the fog.

He can do this; he just needs to breathe.

“All rise.” A voice calls from somewhere behind Richie. He does so mindlessly, straightening his blazer as he stands. The judge enters the room and climbs the steps before sitting down behind the podium. Everyone in the room sits down as one.

The judge adjusts her reading glasses and picks up a stack of papers. She reads out her name, but Richie is too busy trying to breathe to hear it properly. “Mr. Keith Smith VS The Court. 25th of September, 2020. Let’s start with you, Mr. Shelton.”

Shelton, Keith’s lawyer, produces a good case. Not as solid as Richie’s is going to be, but good enough to make Richie sweat a little. Maybe the judge will ignore hard evidence and believe the older, more experienced attorney.

After Shelton finishes presenting his case, it’s Richie’s turn. He’s ready, he can breathe.

“Your honor.” He begins. He stands in the middle of no man’s land, the space between the lawyers, the judge and the jury. “Mr. Smith is the owner and director of the club, ‘The Rocks’ on Main Street. He is forty-two years old. He was married to Kelsey Smith nee Lincoln for seven years. He is also a rapist, a murder and a criminal.

“On the 4th of March, Anna-Louise Frinchley went to the police station to report a rape crime. She had been sexually assaulted by Craig Tonkin the night before. Tonkin is a regular at ‘The Rocks’ and is a long time friend of Mr. Smith.” He stares at each individual person in the jury, hoping to convey with his eyes what an awful monster Keith Smith was.

“6th of May, Jackie George went to the same police station to report a rape crime. She had been sexually assaulted by Jonathan Yancey the night before, the 5th of May. Jackie worked as a dancer at ‘The Rocks’ and like Mr. Tonkin, Mr. Yancey was a regular and a friend of Mr. Smith.

“Liam Thomas, raped on the 6th of June, reported his sexual assault at the same police station the next morning. Liam also works as a dancer at ‘The Rocks’ and was assaulted by Mr. Tonkin.”

“Mr. Tozier, in case you have forgotten, this is a case prosecuting Mr. Keith Smith. If you could please get to the point.”

“Yes, your honor.” He breathes. “Employees at ‘The Rocks’ have gone weeks without being paid. They are treated unfairly by Mr. Smith and several dancers have claimed that Mr. Smith pulls them into the back rooms and sexually assaults them when he feels like it. And then, the murder of Kelsey Smith on the 8th of August. There is a pattern your honor. The eighth of the eighth month. The sixth of the sixth month, the fifth of the fifth month and the third of the third month. There are undoubtedly cases unaccounted for the months of April and July.

“The clients who had raped employees had been hired or tipped off, because the pattern is too perfect for it to be coincidental. The victims always report the crime the next morning, almost as if someone told them to. Almost as if Mr. Smith wants to get caught. Every employee of the institution has been assaulted except for one, Mr. Eddie Kaspbrak.”

He hears a gasp from the public audience and before he can stop himself, he turns. He’s been itching to turn and look all day, but he knew Eddie was there. The next day was due to be the questioning of witnesses and victims and Richie had received a list of every person who was due to be questioned. Eddie had been on that list.

He struggles to breathe, but he turns back to the judge to continue his case.

“On the ninth of September, the ninth of the ninth month, Mr. Kaspbrak was in New York City, applying for a dance school. I believe that if Mr. Kaspbrak were not in New York, he would be a victim of Mr. Smith and/or one of his clients.”

He wants to look, he needs to look but he stops himself from looking.

The judge frowns, peering down at him through her glasses like he’s a bug she plans on squashing. “Can you please elaborate?”

“Due to victims reports, receipts and months of research, we have evidence that suggests Mr. Kaspbrak would’ve been raped or even murdered by Mr. Smith or an affiliate.

Shelton stands abruptly. “Objection, your honor!”

Richie had always hated the whole ‘objection’ thing. What are you objecting to Shelton, the truth?

“Overridden. Please continue, Mr Tozier.”

The courtroom is tense but the nerves have rolled off of Richie. This is what he’s good at, this is what he does.

“Witness statements from Mr. Smith’s neighbors state that Mr. Smith was seen leaving his house at approximately 5:30 am on the eighth of August. Nearly two hours later his wife was found murdered. The dates align with the rapings of Anna-Louise Frinchley, Jackie George and Liam Thomas which is in a systematical order. If you would please look at my notes.”

The judge waves a hand in acceptance and Richie collects his pages of notes to hand to the guard, who hands them to the judge. She looks at Richie’s clear notes and seems pleased, although it’s impossible to read her poker face.

“As you can see, I have witness reports, victim reports, security camera footage and a contact signed by Mr. Smith and at least two of the alleged rapists. That doesn’t even include the assaults that we’re unaware of, however we do know that there are at least fifteen, and this has been going on for years.”

“What are you saying?”

“Your honor, I’m saying that Mr. Smith has an extremely monstrous plot and a very structured crime has been committed. It’s unusual, but the facts and the evidence is all very clear. He killed Kelsey and knew about, if not hired clients himself to rape his own employees. He has also raped a dozen of his own employees. I believe he killed his wife because she found out. He also underpaid employees for years and stole the money for himself. He kept employees in binding contacts that said he could take 20% of all employee’s wages which is not legal-“

”Mr. Tozier the point.”

“Mr. Kaspbrak was going to be the next victim.”

He hears that gasp again and he twitches with the need to turn around, to gather his boy up in his arms and apologize endlessly.

“How did you come by this information?”

**I’m sorry Eddie**

”I have a recording of Mr. Smith telling me himself.”

**So, so, sorry**

He hands the recording device to the guard, who again hands it to the judge. She presses the red button on the top and Richie and Keith’s voices fill the silent courtroom.

_”So, Kelsey huh?”_

_”Yeah, it’s a pity, but she had to go. She knew too much.”_

_”About?”_

_”Everything. Things you don’t need to concern yourself with, Tozier.” A drunk laugh. “More whiskey?”_

_“Yes, please.” The sound of liquid being poured into a crystal glass._

_”So, I see you’ve been coming to ‘The Rocks’ a lot lately recently. Any particular reason?” Another laugh. “Maybe...a brunette reason?”_

_”He is...quite nice.”_

_“Quite nice isn’t the word I would use, myself. Tan legs, brunette, nice ass and pretty. He’d be perfect for Craig. Do you know Craig? Good man. Has a thing for skinny brunettes. We’ll add Eddie Kaspbrak to his list, I think.”_

_“List?”_

_”List of people he’s wrecked, of course.”_

_”Who else is on this...list?”_

_“Eager to get yourself involved, are you Richie?”_

_A long pause. “Something like that.”_

_The sound of clothes rustling, almost as if Smith had shrugged. “Most of my employees mainly. Except for Eddie, of course; I was keeping him for you, maybe I won’t tell Craig.”_

_”That’s....nice of you.”_

_“Anything for you, Tozier. You wanted to know who’s on that list of people Craig has taken? Everyone who works for me, minus nice ass brunette. People who don’t work for me. People who used to work for me but are now...gone. He’s a monster, Richie.”_

_”Oh? And what are you?”_

_”A monster always has a master. Now, I have a bottle of Jack that I want you to try...”_

God, Richie hates Keith. He hates the virile man and always has, but he did what he needed to do to get information on the case. Getting close to Smith was the only way to find out the truth. He just hopes Eddie can forgive him. The courtroom doesn’t lose the tense silence Richie has become accustomed to. If anything, it gets worse. The judge however, doesn’t look tense, more like questioning.

”How did you come by this recording?”

“I went to the club for months. I gained his trust and also that of a few employees. To be humble your honor, I come from money and he saw that. He opened up to me and often asked for cash, that I supplied. I wanted him to trust and confide in me. I went to his new house, just after the murder of Kelsey and we had a few drinks. As you can see, I wheedled it out of him.”

”Asshole.” Keith mutters. Mr. Shelton his attorney, snaps at him to shut up.

The judge looks at him for a minute but Richie is more concerned about the pair of eyes burning a hole into the back of his head.

“This is new evidence.” The judge says finally. “We will confer tomorrow with doctor reports and victim and witness questioning.”

“All rise.” Richie stands without remembering how he did. It was as if his mind has left his body and has left it on autopilot, going through the motions without thought. As the room clears out, Richie stays rooted in place.

It’s been a long day. He wants Eddie, to see him and talk to him and tell him he didn’t mean it, oh god he didn’t mean it, but he’s blown it. He can imagine the hazel eyes looking at him from the crowd hurt, heartbroken and lost. Eddie is to be a witness tomorrow and Richie knows he can’t bare to look into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie has to know that the ‘I got close to a few employees’ line was about him. Eddie is going to think it was all fake, every moment, every touch, every word.

He just got Eddie.

He just lost Eddie.


	21. Twenty

_**Twenty** _

Eddie quit his job at the club.

Richie won his case against Smith and the man was sent to jail for rape crimes and the murder of his life. The club was now run by the assistant manager, but Smith had never trusted the man enough to guide him through how to run a business. The club was still open but with marginally less patrons.

It had been months since the court case, since everything for Richie went right, but so, so wrong. He won the case. He won the money. He won the role of partner.

He finalized his divorce with Greta. She had been sad about it(fuck, he had been sad about it)but they knew it was for the best. It had been twenty of the best years of his life, but it was time to move on to bigger and better things.

He lost Eddie.

He had been to the club multiple times looking for the brunette boy before Tiffany had felt sorry for him and told him the news: Eddie had quit.(Eddie had told him he was resigning months ago, but the thought of him actually leaving left a gaping hole in Richie’s chest.)

Richie had no idea where the male lived; he’d never been to Eddie’s apartment. He didn’t know any of Eddie’s friends or family members. The only lead he had was New York, and even that was nothing. How was he supposed to find one brunette boy in a city of 8 million people?

He didn’t care, he’d find a way.

• • • • • • •

“You know I love you dad, but I am not sitting in a hotel suite for three days while you’re in business meetings.”

Richie sighs. He finishes zipping up his suitcase and looks at his daughter. She’s almost the same height as him now, her straight dyed brunette hair falling over one shoulder. When did she grow up?

“I’m not going to be in business meetings.”

She looks confused. “Then why are we....”

”Going to New York?” Bowie nods. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Is it deep? Should I sit down?”

He tells her everything—except for the whole cheating on your mother with a stripper/prostitute part. “You remember him right? Brunette hair, short, at your dance recital?”

“I think so? Wait, hold on. We’re traveling four hours to look for a guy who you only knew because you were trying to prosecute the guy this guy works for? And he’s a stripper and prostitute? And you’ve been seeing him for however many months—“

”Nine months.”

“Which means you cheated on mom.” She finishes, folding her arms and sending him a classic Tozier glare.

”I knew you’d understand.”

They’re silent for a moment, both of them looking anywhere but at each other. He can’t remember why he wanted Bowie with him in the first place. Comfort maybe, familiarity, finally being able to tell someone the truth. He would’ve brought Owen with him too, made a family trip out of it, but he’s at ComicCon. Richie doesn’t know if he would appreciate the root of the trip anyway.

He knows Bowie, though. She’ll be upset that he cheated on Greta. She’ll act up with him for a day or so, trying to make his life hell. Then everything in her mind will click and she’ll understand that he’s just a fool in love.

He knows he can count on Bowie.

”You ready?”

“Ready to look in a city of 8 million people for your boyfriend who might not even be there? I guess.”

• • • • • •

It sounded harder than it was. They booked into the same hotel Richie was in the last time he was here with Eddie, though not the same suite. Everything was making him think of the brunette boy he held so close to his heart. God, he felt like a lovesick teenager. He couldn’t eat or sleep or breathe without thinking if Eddie was okay; he wondered if Eddie was thinking about him at all. He felt the same way he had twenty years ago with Greta.

It would be a shame to come all this way to find Eddie had left him on purpose and didn’t want anything to do with him. Richie doesn’t even know if what Eddie said he felt was real. Maybe he was just saying so to please a customer. Richie doesn’t know if he’d be able to handle his broken heart if that happened.

”Well, this place is fancier than I expected.”

Richie looked up. The building was huge and far fancier than Richie had ever expected. He should’ve known, really. Ballet Deviare is one of the world’s leading ballet companies. Only the best for his princess. “Yeah, wait here?”

He opened the double glass doors and a reception desk is waiting for him. The man at the desk smiles. “Hi, how may I help you?”

”Hi, my name is Richie Tozier. I’m looking for Mr. Eddie Kaspbrak? Does he dance here?”

He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I can’t disclose that information.”

Richie’s guts twisted. He didn’t want to have to resort to this. He pulls out his wallet from inside of his jacket and opens it, finding his I.D. for the firm. “I’m here on official business.”

He’s lying, for one. It’s not official at all. Secondly, this only ever works in the movies; there is no way it should be working now. And lastly, if Ballet Deviare thinks lawyers are investigating their newest dancer, Eddie’s career could be over before it even starts.

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t.”

Richie should have thought about this. “No worries.” He says.

Bowie looks up from his phone when he exists. “No luck?”

”Nope. We’ll wait here, see if he comes out.”

“Dad.” Bowie says hesitantly, “what if he doesn’t even work here?”

”He has to, Bowie.” Richie runs his hand through his hair. He’s thirty five. Is he too old to be chasing down the love of his life? He looks to his left, where Bowie sits on the pavement, back against the wall of the building. Anything could happen here in a city with eight million people. While he was inside, she could’ve been hurt or abducted or something even worse.

He can’t do this. He’s put his child in(potential) harm’s way trying to track down Eddie. If he felt the same way as Richie, he could’ve found him. Eddie knows where he lives, where he works, what kind of car he drives. If he’d wanted to, it wouldn’t been hard to find him.

He owes it to Bowie to look after her. She’s seventeen now, she’s nearly an adult. Her final exams are right around the corner and if he hadn’t flown them to New York, she would be studying. She should be studying. This week long trip could damage her future. He’s going to make it worthwhile.

”Come on Bowie, lets go find us some drag queens.”

He heaves himself up off the ground and dusts off his butt, Bowie following suit. Crowds of people surge around them as cars fly down the street. You don’t appreciate how many people live in New York until you’re in New York.

Richie keeps close to his daughter, scared of losing her in a bustling city like he was of losing her in the supermarket when she was younger. They’re about to start making their way down the street back to their hotel when they hear it.

“Richie?”

He stops moving immediately. He doesn’t need to turn around. He doesn’t even need to think. The deepest part of his soul knows that voice and could recognize it anywhere.

”Eddie.” He breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m gonna post an epilogue but I think this is a good ending so if you wanna end the story here then go ahead


	22. Epilogue

_**Epilogue** _

Eddie doesn’t say a word as the trio walk back to the hotel.

”I’m gonna...wait out here.” Bowie says, throwing herself onto the couch. Richie ruffles her hair on the way past, eliciting a shriek of terror from the teenage girl. He and Eddie sit on the bed in the bedroom but the atmosphere is so different from what they are used to.

”What are you doing in New York?” Eddie asks. He’s still impulsive, Richie notes, quick to break the ice.

”I’m in love with you.”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow. “Blunt. Richie, you fucked me over, okay? You admitted in front of fifty people in a court that you only got close to me so you could lock up my boss.”

“Your boss was a murder and a rapist.”

“You still fucked me over.” Eddie crosses his arms over his chest defensively. His body language had started off so soft and inviting, the way it always had been with Richie, but now he was closed off; eyes hard.

”Listen Eddie, if I could go back in time and change everything I would. Yeah, I initially went to the club to get answers out of you to see if your boss was a dick to his employees or not. But my love for you was never a cover. Everything I said was real, my love for you was real. Is real.”

Eddie is silent. Richie is trying not to calculate every flinch and flicker off his eyes. He needs to give Eddie space to think.

”I don’t know if I can trust you.” He finally says.

”That’s okay. I’m willing to work for this.”

”For us?”

Richie nods.

”You’re going to work to spend the rest of your life with a stripper when you’re a middle aged divorced father of two who recently prosecuted said stripper’s boss.”

“Love is love, Eddie.” Richie says. He inches closer to Eddie on the bed, wanting to put an arm around Eddie’s shoulders. He hovers his arm there, an invitation. His face almost splits in half when Eddie leans in. Richie wraps his arm around Eddie’s shoulders and pulls him in, resting his cheek on Eddie’s fluffy brunette hair.

”You’d call this love?”

“Yeah, it only took a few pairs of ripped tights and late nights but I know I’m in love with you. I’m willing to wait forever for you to be in love with me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so hard to get the title wormed into the book somehow you have no idea😔
> 
> Sorry if the epilogue is too cliche🥺  
> Check out my other works:)


	23. Authors note

_**Authors Note** _

This book was really toxic in a lot of different ways.

First of all, the age gap

-Eddie was a consenting adult.

-Richie always made sure Eddie was comfortable with everything that happened.

However:

-Richie is still 14 years older. That’s the age of Owen. Even if age is just a number(when legal)the elder in the relationship still holds power over the younger and that was shown in places for example: [“I bought us tickets to New York, you’re coming”// “I don’t want to leave, I just want to cuddle you all night, I don’t care if you have to work”]  
  
Secondly, Eddie’s job

-Richie sees Eddie as HIS because they’ve said “I love you” to each other. He has this possessive personality mainly because he’s been married for twenty years and the monogamous thoughts are very present in his mind.

-It was clear that Eddie never had a lot of money(and then shared it with his coworkers as well) but Richie never paid for sex after the second or third visit because Eddie was so(in lust? in like) with him even though Richie definitely had the money.

-Chapter 13 [“you never got that third orgasm. “Yeah I’m okay, I was done after the first round to be honest. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop?” “It’s not my job to tell you to stop Richie.”] Richie is really disgusted by this and it also links back to his law case—he’s dealing with mainly a rape case against the people who work at the club and yet the employees don’t say stop.

I really wanted these characters to have faults. Richie always puts his job first. Eddie puts others before himself. However these do have good things that come from them, Richie learns to put his kids first and stuff and Eddie gets his dream job in the end.

Obviously, not every relationship is picture perfect, but this one has good and bad parts. This is going to sound really cheesy but seriously, no matter what age you are, if you find yourself in a relationship with someone who is older than you, please be mature about it. Look out for signs that the person has power over you and is using it against you. Don’t be clouded by love.

Before this gets too dark: Thank you for reading! This story is my third baby and I’m so proud of what it has grown to. Thank you so much for every single comment, I read every one even if I don’t reply.

The other story I’m working on is Reddie and called “Baby Hungry” so check that out and show it some love.

Bye!


End file.
